


El Mal Querer

by rmayuscula



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Domestic Violence, Infidelity, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmayuscula/pseuds/rmayuscula
Summary: Voy a tatuarme en la piel / Tu inicial porque es la mía / Pa' acordarme para siempre / De lo que me hiciste un día---Torveld marries Erasmus, Erasmus finds his freedom.
Relationships: Erasmus/Freedom, Erasmus/Kallias (Captive Prince), Erasmus/Torveld (Captive Prince)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. MALAMENTE / QUE NO SALGA LA LUNA

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: emotional and physical abuse, manipulation, infidelity, mentions of slavery, major character death. If there is anything else I should add, let me know.  
> This is a very very very self-indulgent fic set post-canon. It is based in El Mal Querer by Rosalía, which in turn is based in La Flamenca.  
> English is not my first language (I think it shows in what could be considered an overuse of commas lol) and this is not edited. I had never written anything non-academic before, so that’s something else to keep in mind, be nice to me, please. I also wrote most of this in present tense, an interesting decision, if you ask me.  
> This was written for myself, which I think it also shows, but I thought I’d post it here because there aren’t many Erasmus-centric fics in the fandom.  
> The chapters also follow the plot of El Mal Querer, they are divided in: MALAMENTE (foreboding) / QUE NO SALGA LA LUNA (wedding), PIENSO EN TU MIRÁ (jealousy) / DE AQUÍ NO SALES (dispute), RENIEGO (lament) / PRESO (closure), BAGDAD (liturgy) / DI MI NOMBRE (ecstasy), NANA (conception) / MALDICIÓN (sanity), A NINGÚN HOMBRE (power).
> 
> If you are a victim of domestic abuse, you can find some international resources on this website: https://mtch.com/safety-details-international

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreboding / Wedding.

_Sueño que estoy andando por un puente y que la acera_ / _Cuanto más quiero cruzarlo, más se mueve y tambalea_

Erasmus had been free for six months when the beginning of the end started. With a simple and honestly, expected question.

“Beloved, will you marry me?”

It made sense. After both King Damianos and King Laurent’s ascensions, Patras had to give up its slaves. There was no country to trade them with and Torveld told him that he wasn’t sure what would win out: King Laurent’s righteousness or his gratitude.

So, Erasmus was gifted his liberty and had been allowed to stay at the palace as Prince Torveld’s _favorite_ , he had learned to swallow his ‘this slave’s and to spit out his wants and desires. Although not very well, he still couldn’t see the point of having to give up his submission and servitude if he was still devoted to his master, and it wasn’t like he would ever be the prince’s equal.

He was sure of it, even in this moment Torveld’s steward had a sour look on his face, or maybe grim. He couldn’t confirm it, because Torveld took his hands in one of his. Both of his wrists fit perfectly between Torveld’s thumb and forefinger. Erasmus always marveled at his prince’s strength and size, even if he wasn’t Damianos.

“I want you to be mine, ‘Rasmus, I’ll beg if you want me to. I’ll do any-.”

“Yes, _of course_.”, his eyes were shining with delight. When he was a slave, he thought he would be forced to eventually become Torveld’s mistress, watch him marry a noblewoman and be given his own rooms, to be kept away. After the new slave laws were implemented he became hopeful, the court wasn’t exactly happy with his and the Prince’s arrangement, they didn’t deem him worthy, after all, he was still considered property until some moons ago.

But Torveld, as a second son and with nephews and nieces to spare, was indulged in his many whims and therefore everyone knew he would end up marrying Erasmus, now that he was a free man.

Erasmus rested his head on Torveld’s thigh, he had been sitting on a cushion when Torveld sprung the question while petting his hair. His prince let go of his hands and held his head instead, fingers splayed on Erasmus’ jaw and thumbs on his adam’s apple.

“Nothing would make me happier, your grace.”

“’ _Your grace_ ’, I can’t wait for you to call me husband.” Erasmus thought Torveld had never looked more handsome, with his graying beard framing his smile and joy making his eyes water.

\---

 _Corona'a de brillantes hechas con perlas y oro_ / _Quiera o no quiera, lo quiera ella o no quiera_ / _Va a estar conmigo y hasta que se muera_

Torveld didn’t have to wait long.

A fortnight later and Erasmus was being helped into his wedding robes, a rich crimson color, palms and palms of fabric pooling around his frame. He still wasn’t used to wearing his betrothal ring, slaves and boys didn’t wear rings, but powerful men did and it made him feel manly indeed.

His fingers reach to touch the robe’s embroidery, feeling the gold thread, the sewed-in jewels and he catches Sidonia’s gaze in the mirror.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“His grace is a lucky man; you look like a nymph from the myths.” She says this with a somber face, her eyes half-lidded with sadness. Erasmus is confused.

“I am lucky too, do you not find him rather handsome?”

“Looks aren’t the thing he lacks, does he? Though my mother told me he wasn’t pretty as a young man, age has helped him.”

“What does that mean?”

He can see Arethas, the steward, tense up and give Sidonia a look. Erasmus drops his hands from the robe’s edge.

“Nothing. He has never been anything but gentle with you.”

Erasmus looks away from the mirror. Arethas stands up.

“That’s enough. Callinia will help Erasmus. Get out, Sidonia.”

If he was honest, he hadn’t grown fond of Arethas and his dislike for the man gives him the courage he needs to speak up.

“No, I want Sidonia with me.”

“She has other duties to attend to, Erasmus.” No title, he was glad that would change in a few hours and the steward would be forced to call him ‘your grace’, to respect him by good manners if by nothing else. “Sidonia, leave.”

Callinia starts fussing with Erasmus’ hair, he can see fear in her eyes and it tells him Arethas is hiding something, tip-toeing around. But he leaves after Sidonia and he cannot ask him what’s wrong.

“We dreaded this happening to you. Be brave, Erasmus.”

One of Torveld’s men walks into the room, some sort of relative, a cousin perhaps, Erasmus wasn’t sure. He hears Callinia’s low murmur.

“Are you scared, sweet thing?” The man says laughing. “No need to worry. You are not a bride, nothing you haven’t done before.”

Erasmus thinks him crude but it calms him down, that was what his servants were nervous about then. It was a silly thing to worry about, the man was right, after all. He wishes he could reassure the women, tell them Torveld isn’t a rough lover.

He gives the man a smile and then looks over to Callinia, she looks more panicked than before.

“Oh, his grace has sent me to give you a gift.” He comes to stand beside Erasmus and sets a box made of seashells on his dressing stool. It’s weird, Erasmus thinks, to send a nobleman to run errands like a servant. He is charmed by the gesture though, the shells are set in gold and the box reminds him of Akelios, of Ios by the sea, of Kallias.

Erasmus looks away from it. “Thank you, my lord. And thank his grace too, please.”

“Will do. Well then, I’ll leave you so you can finish dressing up, patran bride.” He can see him side-eye Callinia, but he bows and exits the room in quick steps. The girl seems sad now, and Erasmus tries to cheer her up:

“Can you open the box for me, Callinia?”

She nods and then smiles, as if shaking off her feelings. “Pearl earrings, Lord Erasmus.”

He is happy that she has calmed down, he has grown close to his servants. He considered them his only friends here in Bazal. The nobles weren’t too interested in him, other than to turn their noses up at him, and he was uncomfortable around them, didn’t know how to act now that he wasn’t supposed to serve them. The loneliness makes him feel lost for a moment. At least as a slave he was admired, a precious possession.

The sapphires that accompany the pearls catch his eye, and remind him of his prince.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?”. Their beauty makes him smile. Lovely jewels and lovely wedding and lovely prince, a lovely life. More than he had dared to wish for as a young slave in training, back in Ios. “Will you help me put them on, please?”.

\---

The ceremony was small. Reasonable, considering it was for a second son marrying a former slave. It was still lavish, fit for royalty. Erasmus rises their conjoined hands and kisses Torveld’s knuckles.

Torveld pecks his cheek, turning Erasmus’ flushed face away from the meager crowd and towards the altar, the priest looks at his own feet. The kiss is rather chaste and timid for a wedding, he thinks, but Torveld has started walking down the aisle and out of the temple.

Erasmus can see Torgeir, the king, smile with teeth. The rest of the court looks happy enough, he decides; they’re even cheering for the couple and that makes him happier. He was scared of a grim, serious wedding feast, of feeling rejected by the nobles like he did before. But he is a prince now and he is welcomed with open arms by the palace, it fills him with joy.

He looks over to his prince, his _husband_ and feels even more delighted. Torveld is kind and gentle, and Erasmus loves him, he does.

The feast is a merry affair, with music and dancers and poetry and gifts. King Torgeir gives Torveld a stallion, regal, warm-blooded and with a blue roan coat.

He also gives Erasmus an exotic bird, from Vere’s new islands. It’s small and a pale grey color, but the king says that it can sing in four hundred voices. Erasmus is sad to see it caged though he is distracted from it by the king complimenting him.

“For you, since with your beautiful voice my brother has no need for another singing bird.” He smiles at the praise and Torveld gives his hand a squeeze.

“I do not. Thank you, dear brother.”

King Laurent has sent them a litter of kemptian wolfhounds, for Torveld’s hunts. King Damianos, a pretty chest carved in gold and filled with akielon silk. The Queen of Vask gifts them heavy warhorses, Erasmus likes Torgeir’s stallion better. Some noble makes a comment about it being a threat from the empire, which makes Torveld laugh.

The patran court gives them jewels, rich cloth, luxurious chaises, gilded ceramics and for some reason, a long haired cat. Erasmus’ favorite gift is the small tapestry woven by Torgeir’s youngest daughter.

The apples of Torveld’s cheeks are red from laughing and smiling, and Erasmus eyes are half-lidded from the drink when they retire to their chambers. Torveld bridal-carries him through their sitting rooms and Erasmus lets out a giggle.

“Wait, wait. I have a gift for you too.”

“You do? Did you like the earrings, ‘Rasmus?”

“I did. Now, put me down husband.” Torveld laughs and complies. Erasmus is almost skipping, instead of walking, to the next room. He reaches under the bed and retrieves the gift, goes back to Torveld with a blush on his cheeks.

It’s a decorative sword, still sharp but too heavy for battle, the metal is solid gold like his betrothal and wedding rings. Akiel

on motifs are carved into the blade. Torveld’s eyes shine almost child-like when he catches sight of it.

“It’s made with the gold of my cuffs and collar. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so I want _you_ to have it.”

“Thank you, beloved. It’s wonderful, thank you.” He starts peppering Erasmus’ face with kisses, making him laugh loudly. Torveld puts the sword aside and lifts him up once again.

A while later, when they are both in bed with the pale moonlight covering them, Erasmus’ eyes gaze at the mirror and he remembers Sidonia’s sad look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dream that I’m walking through a bridge and that the pavement / The more I want to cross it, the more it moves and staggers
> 
> Crowned so brilliant, with pearls and with gold / Whether she wants it or not, whether she does, she doesn’t / She’s going to be with me until she dies
> 
> So, I know that Erasmus probably wouldn't be given a proper title, least of all prince. But I think that going from slave to prince would be very sexy of him, so he can have that, as a treat.  
> Another important thing: this is supposed to be set a year or two post-canon, where Erasmus is around twenty. I imagine that after living with Torveld for a time, he feels safe enough to drop many slave mannerisms but Torveld doesn't make sure that he is *growing*. He is like a plant in water instead of dirt. He is cared for, safe, loved and we can see him get better at interpersonal interactions, but not intrapersonal.
> 
> Laurent’s wolfhounds are Borzois, the long-haired cat is a Turkish Angora (they’re both latter breeds, the angoras date back to around the XV century, but they suit the story and I like them very much, thank you), the songbird is a cenzontle (yes, I’m having Vere-France colonize my country, thank you, I think my accent would be prettier that way).


	2. PIENSO EN TU MIRÁ / DE AQUÍ NO SALES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealousy / Dispute.

_Y del aire cuando pasa, por levantarte el cabello_ / _Y del oro que te viste por amarrarse a tu cuello / Y del cielo y de la luna, que tú quieras mirarlos / Hasta del agua que bebes cuando te moja los labios_

The sun hits Erasmus’ eyes, he’s fallen asleep on the rug that sits by their garden’s archway. He peers his eyes open, squinting, and the action makes him smile. He was taught to avoid sunlight in the slave gardens for fear that he would ruin his white skin, but that doesn’t matter now, not in Patras. His cheeks have freckled and his limbs are tanned, he stretches his arms and bumps into the cat.

Erasmus grew up frightened of the dogs that used to roam the gardens’ kitchens and the big birds that lurked by the beaches and even of the rat that he saw one time here in the palace halls. But he could deal with Lampourgos. Torveld allowed him to name it himself, so he gave him a name in Akielon. After his orange tail, when the rest of its fur was stark white.

Lampourgos stretches too, getting up to lay down on Erasmus’ chest, and the fur tickles his skin. He’s wearing a chiton, tailored from a green silk he got in the wedding feast. He still wears patran robes at court, but Erasmus longs for this familiarity. Some would call this feeling homesickness, but he doesn’t dare, thinking of home makes him bitter most of the time. He scratches the cat’s chin and they stay like that, lazing together under the sun.

“My, my, how scandalous.” Torveld unties the archway’s delicate curtains, paling the light that bathed their rooms. “All of that skin.” He grabs a handful of nuts from a nearby table and sits on the rug, near Erasmus’ head. “For the world to see.”

“Hello.” Erasmus reaches out and squeezes Torveld’s knee. “I must’ve dozed off again. Where were you? I missed you this morning.” He looks over and finds that Lampourgos has moved to the blue chaise, his favorite.

“Sorry about that, Torgeir summoned the council.” Torveld intertwines their fingers, rubbing his thumb over Erasmus’ hand and grimaces while swallowing. “Over grain trade, of all things.” Erasmus giggles at the face his husband makes.

“You should ask him for another kind of duty, you hate being locked inside.”

“He’d send me on some kind of fool’s errand to the countryside, away from you, beloved.” He has a fond look on his face, with a put-on frown and pout. Erasmus laughs and touches his forehead, like a swooning maiden in an Akielon play.

“Hush, husband. I can’t bear to think about it.” Torveld laughs at him and clutches his chest as a finale, then drops the act.

“Speaking of being locked inside. Two things.”

“Yes?”

“You need to eat at least one meal a day in the main hall.” Erasmus wants to roll his eyes at this. He doesn’t. “It’s almost like you’re hiding in here.”

“Not almost, Torveld.”

“I do not care, ‘Rasmus. The court needs to see you.”

He had begun to dislike public events, even the ones with his now immediate family. Out of their rooms, there was always a tension around Torveld, a downturn to his mouth, a weight on his shoulders. Callinia once told him it was jealousy, but Torveld’s eyes did not have the dark look of possessiveness and Sidonia agreed with him. It wasn’t that, it was something more akin to fear. Erasmus thought that it might be shame, Torveld wouldn’t look away from him, as if he was expecting him to make a mistake and disgrace his husband’s name with his still slave-like manners. It put Erasmus on edge.

“I will do as you ask, then.”

“Oh, do not be cross at me. It is your duty, you know this.”

“I do.”

Torveld lets go of his hand, Erasmus sits up to face him. His husband brushes his curls out of his eyes and any trace of anger leaves Erasmus, replaced with guilt for being selfish.

“I am not mad at you, I’m sorry.” Torveld frowns, but Erasmus recognizes it as a worried one.

“Don’t do that either.” Erasmus stays silent. “You don’t need to apologize, or look down. Don’t avoid my eye, please. I am your husband now, not your master.”

“I know that.” Torveld touches his chin, Erasmus pushes himself to make eye contact. “I do, Torveld.” His prince relaxes at the use of his name and gives him a small smile. “What was the other thing?”

“Oh, I want to take you to the village. There’s a market with foreign merchants today, do you want to go?”

Erasmus hesitates, he loves traveling and strolling through towns with Torveld, but he knows what the suggestion means. He’ll have to listen to others speak his mother tongue, make conversation with them even though he is still uncomfortable about speech, Torveld is the only one he speaks freely with, besides the light chatter with his servants. He does not know if his heart can take it. He only speaks Akielon to himself, Lampourgos and his bird, not even to his husband. Seeing his countrymen will make him sadder than staying in his chambers for the afternoon.

Torveld looks excited though. They haven’t gone out of the palace since before the wedding and Erasmus longs to not have to tip toe around nobles and worry under Torveld’s sharp gaze.

And he _is_ lonely, he aches for normalcy, for cooks and sellers and errand boys. Only Sidonia and Callinia keep him company these days, he’s been told that visiting the kitchens and mingling with the servants is not fit for his station anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Yes, we should go.”

\---

All his worrying had been for naught. Torveld was right, as usual. He had enjoyed the market, and he didn’t even have to talk to the Akielon merchants since Torveld coveted his attention, as usual. He smiles remembering Torveld’s peacefulness while walking through the stalls, his husband truly thrived outside of court and Erasmus felt guilty of trapping him here, in Bazal.

Accompanying him to the Vaskian border might be an option, but not to the Veretian or Akielon areas, there was no way Erasmus could bear to listen to a Veretian soldier speak or smell an Akielon olive orchard. He fears he would shatter in pieces so small he’d become dust.

Erasmus would never say it out loud, but Torveld was getting too old anyway, and he seemed tired of Vaskians and fighting. Bazal was a good fit for them, his husband should just go on hunts if interiors were the issue, instead of dragging them both to dusty campsites. Or maybe they could keep an estate on the countryside, rule over a province. Erasmus allows himself to imagine it until he sees blue eyes and dark skin, an Akielon villa with gardens on bloom. He feels his cheeks redden with shame, for dismissing his huband’s feelings and indulging in pointless yearning.

“Are you alright, Erasmus?” Samir pulls him away from his thoughts, back to the dining hall. He’s one of Torgeir’s middle sons, the one with a soft spot for sphoungata. They are around the same age but Erasmus doesn’t think he has ever spoken to him, not really. He pushes himself to answer, to avoid rudeness as he sees Torveld put his cup down on the corner of his eye.

“Yes, your grace. Thank you.” He even lifts his gaze from his plate and locks eyes with Samir.

“I’m glad. Listen, my sister has been meaning to break fast with you. Though I warn you that Verina keeps hawks, so I think she’s more interested on your songbird than socializing.” Erasmus turns to his husband and Torveld gives him a pointed look.

“Oh, I’d be happy to do so, your grace.” He says in a small voice, a ‘this slave’ almost slips out. Torveld interrupts him before he can say anything else.

“Why doesn’t Verina ask Erasmus himself, Samir?”

“You know she’s not good with strangers, uncle. Not that you’re a stranger, Erasmus, sorry. You’re family but she-.”

“I understand.” He does. He’s not good with strangers either, not anymore. Not after Vere.

“Well then, Verina can join Erasmus one of these days if she wants to.” There it is, Erasmus thinks. Torveld is cutting into his meat with force and his left eyebrow is raised. The change in mood confuses him, wasn’t Erasmus meant to be more outgoing? Wasn’t that what Torveld asked him to do? Socializing, settling in court? “Though I’ll be too busy to accompany them…” Will he? They always spend the mornings together; Erasmus cherishes those hours. “So you should join them too, Samir.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, uncle.” The boy is laughing, and both Torveld and Erasmus frown, coordinated. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would even do. I love my sister and I’m sure you’re a delight, sweet Erasmus. But you know me, uncle, I’ll ask Proseria instead.”

“I insist.” Torveld puts his cutlery down. “Proseria is busy too, with her engagement. And Erasmus should make more friends his age, can’t have him only speaking to widowed ladies and your fourteen-year-old sister, Samir.” He only talked to Lady Eusebia once, and Torveld isn’t counting Sidonia and Callinia. But he doesn’t protest, there’s a sad tone in his voice and Erasmus starts worrying, he’ll ask him what’s wrong after dinner, he decides. “You’re both young men, you’ll get along.”

“Alright then, I’ll let Verina know.” Samir smiles. Erasmus can see it’s forced and it taints his day, no matter the happy hours from before.

\---

“Torveld.” He’s about to ask him about dinner but his husband opens his mouth at the same time.

“Do you wish you had stayed in Akelios?” The question surprises him. Torveld’s in bed, sitting against the headboard and the candlelight softens his features, makes him look younger. The sad glint is back in his eyes and Erasmus drops the birdcage cover.

“ _No_.” But he mulls the question over, contrary to his immediate response. He knows why Kallias did what he did, he saved Erasmus’ life. The rumors of what would have been his household’s tragic ending reached him a time ago. Still, there’s a small fantasy buried deep in his heart, of him and Kallias as free men in their home country, whimsy dreams. Torveld doesn’t know about Kallias. “No, I’m happy here in Patras. Why do you ask?” He drapes the fabric over the cage and goes to sit beside his husband.

“It’s true, what I said at dinner. You need to make friends, young men and young women. You _are_ lonely.”

“You are my friend too.” Torveld smiles at this, a watery half-grin. “Sidonia and Callinia are my friends, they are not yet twenty, young women.”

“Right, what do you talk to them about?”

“I mostly listen to them, they are funny. They tell me jokes when they clean, and I play cards with Callinia. Sidonia tells us myths when she embroiders, she knows many. I like them, we are friends.”

“Servants are prone to gossip, no matter how agreeable is their company. You should be careful around them, and wary of what they tell you.” Torveld’s tone is sharp, it makes Erasmus frown.

“They are not gossips.” Erasmus can feel himself becoming defensive, digging a breach between them. They don’t quarrel, there’s never been a reason to, but Torveld’s mood swings make him edgy, the constant chiding and the reproachful eyes at court. He thinks of Callinia’s words on his wedding day, of how difficult discerning people’s moods has become, all his slave training going to waste. “I used to be part of the service too, Torveld. I know what servants are like.”

“One would think that you don’t.” Lampourgos jumps on the bed, settling in Erasmus’ lap.

“What does that mean?”

“ _Nothing_.”

“It’s not like I can make any other friends, who am I supposed to spend time with? With Verenia the child?”

“Maybe if you made the smallest effort of going outside these goddamned chambers you would make friends, beloved.” The pet name is clipped and Erasmus resents it. Resentment is a feeling he knows well, it turns him into a different person, a bitter one.

“Your nobles dislike me, _dear_.”

“They don’t.”

“They do. Their fondness lasted as long as our wedding feast and you’ve done nothing to change that. I _hide_ in here because what am I meant to do, Torveld? I am no prince, I’m a slave.” His face is red with anger and he knows he is not thinking clearly. He has never spoken like this to Torveld, nor to anyone, but he feels so lost now, like the hero in the maze from Sidonia’s stories. He has no place in this world, he tries to be obedient but nobody orders him around anymore, his submission is always chastened and his small rebellions are never rewarded.

Torveld looks shocked, like a rug’s been pulled from his feet and Erasmus relishes in this, it makes him feel powerful, like he is a man too. He remembers the ‘ _patran_ _bride_ ’ of Torveld’s cousin and it infuriates him more, he wants to wallow in this anger, this fire. He was wrong, he’s never felt like this, it’s different from resentment. He wants to raise his voice, see if he can be sharp and cutting like Torveld or mocking like Samir, be anything other than Erasmus the slave.

That’s until his husband’s eyes get mournful again and Erasmus’ flame dies out.

“Why are you blaming _me_?”

“I’m so sorry dear, please, I don’t know-.”

“I’ve done nothing but try to make you happy, ‘Rasmus.” Is Torveld crying? Erasmus feels guilt like never before, he’s drowning in it.

“I’m sorry, Torveld, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I’m so sorry.”

“And I want you to be happy, I do but-.”

“I’m so sorry, please.” Erasmus sobs out. He’s climbed into Torveld’s lap without noticing and he takes his husband face in his hands, caresses his cheekbones. “Torveld, please.”

“No, you’re right, beloved.”

“I’m not, I’m not, I swear I’m not.” At this, Torveld’s eyes dry. Erasmus cannot look away from him, he does not know what to do, how to fix this. “I’m sorry, dear.”

“Can we go to sleep, please?”

“Torveld, I’m truly sorry.”

“Please, Erasmus.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. Let me turn off the lamps, dear.” Erasmus gets up and blows on every candle as fast as he can. He wants to go back to his husband, to apologize again, to press his forehead to the floor.

“I _hate_ the cat on the bed.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He hurries back to the bed and carries Lampourgos to the chaise, the blue one. “ _Good night, darling_.” He murmurs in Akielon, as low as he can. Erasmus takes a second to breathe, feel the guilt again and then gets under the covers. Rests his head on Torveld’s shoulder and curls his hand on his chest, above his husband’s heart.

“’Night, ‘Rasmus.” Tears bubble at his throat again; he cannot force himself to answer him.

\---

The rustle of the heavy bed covers wakes Erasmus. He squints his eyes open and sees Torveld getting up from bed. Looks at his back, where the muscles are still toned and reaches out to touch.

“Good morning, beloved.” His husband does not look at him. Erasmus sits up to hook his chin over Torveld’s shoulder, wrap his arms around his waist.

“’Morning, dear.” His hands skate upwards towards his prince’s chest. He’s shrugged off.

“I told you I would be busy. I don’t have the time.”

“Yes, why?”

“Council.” Torveld still won’t turn to face him. Erasmus feels like crying. Punishment, he thinks.

“Are you angry at me?”

“Of course not, why?”

“I don’t know.” Erasmus lies back down when Torveld stands up. A servant walks in to help him dress. It doesn’t upset him anymore, but he misses doing that. Draping Torveld’s robes and buckling his belts.

When Torveld walks out of their rooms, it hits Erasmus. He hasn’t been kissed good morning. Punishment. A lash would have hurt less.

\---

Erasmus is finishing getting ready for the day, Sidonia’s fingers carding rose oil through his curls when Samir walks in with Verenia on his arm. He had never noticed how similar their looks were before, their wavy hair the same shade of dark brown, like glazed wood.

“ _Oh_. Callinia, will you fetch breakfast, please?” He whispers and she leaves the room in quick steps, bowing to the royal children.

“Good morning, Erasmus.” Samir looks cheerful enough, which calms Erasmus, he had been afraid of receiving a cold shoulder after dinner. “You slept well?”

“Yes, thank you, your grace.” He looks at Verenia, her pale blue robes compliment her skin, which is lightly pinking at the cheeks. It makes Erasmus smile. “Good morning, Lady Verenia.”

“Good morning.” She avoids his eye but doesn’t seem scared, only shy.

“Lord Samir told me you wanted to meet my songbird, come with me.” He guides the pair into the bedchamber, where the silver cage stands beside an archway. Verenia looks at the bird, a few steps away from it. The bird does not frighten away from her.

“What’s its name?” She wispers. Her eyes are glazed with excitement, she looks prettier like this, Erasmus decides.

“Oh, Torveld told me the locals call them cenzon-, wait, cenzont-.” He struggles with the foreign word. “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to pronounce it right.”

“No, no. Its _name_.”

“I haven’t named it.” Her eyes widen and she turns to Erasmus so quickly that he’s sure it made her dizzy. Samir, who had been leaning on a wall silently observing, laughs. “I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl, my lady.”

“It doesn’t matter; it deserves a name.” He smiles at her thoughtfulness, the gentleness of caring for animals. She says it fiercely, like he would try to refute her.

“Well, then _you_ should name it.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll choose a good one.”

“Can I think it over?”

“Of course.” She grins at him, all sharp canines. He feels proud of making her happy.

“I like you more than Bardas.”

“ _Verenia_.” Samir groans and rolls his eyes, getting away from the wall.

“Bardas?” Erasmus asks.

“He was uncle Torveld’s lover.” She locks eyes with her brother, their faces full of mischief.

“Don’t worry poor Erasmus, Verenia. How do you even remember him?”

“He gifted me a sparrowhawk.” That makes Erasmus raise his eyebrows.

“Me letting you name a bird wins over that?” Their mood is contagious and the siblings remind him of his boyhood, at the slave gardens. Verenia’s hand makes a brushing-off motion, exaggerated.

“He was bribing me.”

“Bribing you?” Erasmus sits on the blue chaise. Lampourgos must have hidden under the bed when he heard stranger’s voices. Samir perches on the arm of the chaise, leaning over Erasmus conspiratorially.

“Curiosity killed the cat, sweet ‘Rasmus.” Sing-songs the boy. Verenia comes to sit beside him, flattening her skirts as she does so and then slaps her brother’s arm.

“I have to tell him, Samir. If I don’t then he’ll ask his _husband_.”

“Oh! Don’t ever mention the name around uncle Torveld, Erasmus. Puts him in the worst of moods.”

“Why?”

“It has to do with the bribe.” Verenia stands up to walk around the room. “I must’ve been what, ten? And Samir had started to break in his first horse, symbol of manhood, though you were a bit of a late bloomer, weren’t you?” She uses the same mocking tone that Kallias did, when he made fun of people. Samir throws a cushion at her, startling Erasmus.

“Piss off.”

“So I liked going to the horse stables to laugh at him, I swear he couldn’t stay astride the poor mare for more than three seconds. Imagine that, the most hilarious sight, isn’t it?”

“A she-demon, that mare.” He throws her another cushion. She skips aside and the pillow hits the ornate mirror, making all of them wince. Verenia sobers up.

“I caught Bardas with a stablehand, of all men. Uncle Torveld found them out weeks after and Bardas had to leave court, he went back to his father’s state.”

“He was a nobleman?”

“Yes, we thought they would marry. But it was a long time ago.” Samir answers.

“And you’re here now. And Erasmus is prettier and way nicer, isn’t he?”

“He is.” Verenia smiles at her brother and sits across from them, on top of the carved table. “Anyway, did you keep that cat I saw at your wedding?” The question makes Erasmus giggle.

“We did, but you must have scared him out of the room.”

“With your terrible aim, Samir.”

Callinia walks in with their breakfast and they eat seated on the bedroom’s rug, under the morning sun, joking and gossiping. It lifts Erasmus’ spirits, Torveld was right, young men and young women.

\---

He doesn’t see Torveld that day until before dinner and his husband comes in the room with a grin on his face. As if nothing happened. Erasmus is happy though, it makes him breathe easier.

“Beloved.” He greets him, Torveld kisses his hair and kneels in front of the heavy chair Erasmus sits on.

“Hello, dearest.” Erasmus pecks the gap between his husband’s brows, there’s a line there from frowning in meetings and diplomacy talks. “Good day?”

“Yes. I have news.” His eyes crinkle with joy.

“Oh?”

“There’s to be a hunt and a feast and the gods know what else. A kyros is visiting us.” That worries Erasmus, so many Akielons all of a sudden. Yesterday at the market and now this, disturbing his peace, the idyllic life he’s built with Torveld. At least it’s not Veretians knocking at their doors.

“And you’re excited about the hunt, I suppose.”

“I might be.” Erasmus runs his hands through Torveld’s hair, stares at his face. Delight suits him.

“When does the kyros get here?”

“In a week, are you not going to ask which kyros it is?”

“Should I?” It makes Torveld let out a booming laugh.

“Not really.” He stands up from the floor, walks over to a table and serves himself a cup of water. He turns to Erasmus as he puts the pitcher down. “Arethas told me the children payed you a visit this morning.”

“They did.”

“And?” There it is, once again. The look.

“A fascinating pair, aren’t they?”

“Why?” Torveld tilts his head, like one of his hounds.

“They are hilarious, we had a great time.”

“Did Verenia like your bird?”

“She did.” Erasmus smiles at the thought of her. “She invited me to meet her hunting birds tomorrow.”

“And Samir?”

“What about him?”

“Did you two get along?”

“Yes, why?”

“No reason.” He knows Torveld is baiting him but cannot figure out why he’s doing it. He won’t bite.

“Samir’s alright. Why, Torveld, are you doubting my social skills?” His husband gives him a half-smile. “I was raised up to entertain, wasn’t I?” Torveld’s eyes darken and Erasmus knows he’s hit the bullseye. It amazes him how different the looks are, how wrong Callinia was, possessiveness makes his prince half-lidded, not frown. “And I always strive to please, don’t I?”

They do not attend dinner that night.

\---

Erasmus hums at Verenia. She’s trying to braid flowers into his hair, now that it reaches past his shoulders.

“Answer me, ‘Rasmus.”

“That was a yes.”

“Right. Stop moving.” He lets her boss him around. Samir told him that he wasn’t exaggerating at dinner, Verenia dislikes strangers and has a hard time making friends, that it was almost a miracle that she warmed up to Erasmus so quickly. Erasmus didn’t tell him that he had been taught to make others feel safe, to make his presence as reassuring as possible.

\---

He’s waiting for Torveld in one of their sitting rooms the first time it truly happens.

“What’s this?” His husband doesn’t even greet him when he comes into the room, only plucks a flower from his hair and sits on a low couch.

“A hyacinth.” Torveld looks at the yellow petals like he’s never seen a plant before, then raises his eyes. He has the _look_ and Erasmus feels a pit on his stomach, he can feel dread spreading and making his fingertips cold. He had been wrong, so wrong. He gets it now.

“No, I mean, what is this?” The words are cutting and Erasmus crosses the room, to where his husband is sitting.

“Verenia braided my hair.” His voice is small, a high-pitched whisper.

“ _Verenia_.” Torveld grabs the back of his left thigh, where the burn marks are and Erasmus gasps, he is back in Vere, the room closes around him and he can smell smoke, hears the foreign words with Arles’ lilt. “Verenia, touching your _hair_.” Erasmus cannot breathe, for the life of him, he cannot breathe, he had been so wrong. His hands are trembling and he can see the fire poker, burning orange. “This _hyacinth_ , curling into your scalp.” Torveld lets go of him, but he’s still heaving. Strange hands hold him down and he doesn’t understand, he swears to them that he doesn’t, he’s so lost. If he understood, he would obey, without thinking twice about it but he cannot, he’s so lost. “ _Beloved_.”

Torveld reaches for his waist to pull him into his lap and that’s even worse. It takes him to the boat to Vere, to Arles’ gardens. He can touch the bark of the tree, it’s so rough, it chaffs his skin. His husband keeps carding his hair, taking out every flower and twig. Then he pulls Erasmus’ chin.

“Beloved.”

“I’m sorry.” He spits it out, the only two words he can think of. He hates disappointing Torveld and he had been so wrong, it _was_ jealousy.

“No, no, no, no. You don’t have to apologize.” Torveld brushes his tears off with the pads of his fingers. When had he started crying? “You did nothing wrong.” Torveld is too kind, he knows he’s misbehaved. A bad master, truly, if he hadn’t spoiled him useless this would’ve never happened, Erasmus would have recognized the _look_ for what it was the first time he noticed it. He catches himself, bad master? More like bad slave, he wasn’t allowed to reproach his master. “I’m glad you’re making friends. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’ve had a long day.” His husband kisses his eyes. “Would you forgive me, beloved?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh. Are you alright?” It takes a minute for Torveld’s words to catch up with Erasmus. Torveld isn’t angry at him? The gentle tone confuses him, he’s so lost. “What’s wrong? Do you need a moment?”

“No, I am fine.” That’s what he’s supposed to say, isn’t it? It seems like it is, because Torveld smiles at him.

“Again, I’m sorry, ‘Rasmus.” His husband pets his hair and then stands up. “I’ll go freshen up so we can go for our walk, that council room is rotting me from the inside out, I swear.”

Erasmus stays where he is, takes his time to calm down. All of that happened so fast. He’s glad he’s learned what the look means, though.

\---

It’s the morning where the akielion delegation is supposed to arrive and the girls are fussing over him.

“Please, why won’t you answer us, dear boy?” Sidonia is helping him into his robe. It’s the deep purple one, one of his favorites.

“Sidonia.” Callinia spits out. She’s fitting his rings on his fingers. “You do not have to talk to us if you don’t feel like it, sweet thing.” Erasmus turns to her, with his eyes closed.

“You were right.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. That’s why you’re like this, is it not?”

“It’s not his fault.” He opens his eyes to say it, squints at them.

“Of course.”

“ _It’s not_ , Sidonia.” He hates being contradicted like that, with half-tilted voices. If he’s wrong then he should be told that he’s wrong, not patronized. He hates it. It makes him bitter.

“Of course, your grace.”

“Prince Torveld’s always had a temper, you shouldn’t dwell on it, your grace.”

“He doesn’t.” They don’t understand, but Erasmus does. He thinks of the other night, when he yelled at Torveld over nothing and of last evening’s reprimand. Torveld had an actual reason to be angry, Erasmus did not. And anger is a natural reaction, he’s found out. Now that he’s discovered it, like a coin on cobblestones, he can’t help but feel it constantly. But that’s natural too, he guesses. “Torveld does not have a temper, Callinia.”

“Of course, your grace.” The honorifics do not escape him; he knows that sweet Erasmus has frightened them. But he cannot do anything to reassure them, not right now. He’s still on edge and they are not helping. He feels like crying and he’s afraid he will shed tears until Sidonia takes his hand in hers.

“It’s true, sweet boy, what the children said that morning.”

“Quiet, Sidonia. Arethas has ears in these walls, I swear.” Callinia whispers, she’s trembling like one of the rabbits Verenia uses for prey.

“I know, that’s why it’s not his fault.” Sidonia looks at him like she wants to protest, but they both drop the topic. They start talking about the kitchens, about the welcoming feast for his countrymen.

\---

“Oh, look at you.” Torveld kisses both of his cheeks and taps his nose. “The prettiest.” Erasmus flushes at the compliment and opens his mouth to thank him, but Torveld reaches behind his head. Unclips the brooch that holds his hair out of his face, tucks his hair behind his ears instead. “That’s better.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, let’s go. We’ll be late.” Erasmus rests his hand on the crook of his elbow and lets himself be led out of their rooms.

The halls are bustling with servants. It’s been a while since the last time Bazal entertained guests, he remembers still being a slave, being asked to sing at the feast. He thinks now it’s a good time to talk about last night, the walk to the courtyard is short enough to stop the conversation from dragging on.

“Dearest.”

“Yes?”

“It’s about yesterday.”

“Right, I’m sorry, my boy. I’m sorry for chiding you.”

“No, I’m sorry too but it’s not-.”

“I _am_ happy that you’re getting along with the children, it shouldn’t make me angry.” That’s not what unsettled Erasmus last evening.

“That’s alright, but I meant when you grabbed-.”

“It’s just that it’s been only you and me all this time, It’s a bit difficult to adapt as you’ll understand.”

“No, Torveld. It’s not about that.”

“Oh, then is it about that thing your eyes did? You kept saying sorry, I’m not mad about that, I know that it’s hard for you sometimes.”

“No, I mean, you know I can’t stand being touched-.” They’re in the courtyard now and Torveld looks away from him, towards the open gates of the palace. Erasmus stares at his husband. He had never turned Erasmus’ fears against him before, but was that what he did? It doesn’t sound right, like something that Torveld would do. And it had been a couple of weeks since the last time Erasmus got like _that_ , visited Arles’ dark rooms and smelt the sailor’s breath. It was bound to happen. He’s glad that Torveld was around, then. That his husband helped him calm down, didn’t he? Erasmus thinks so.

“Sorry, ‘Rasmus. What were you saying?” Yes, Erasmus thinks so. And he doesn’t want to upset his husband any more, it wasn’t his fault, and they should put this behind them. That way things would go back to normal, like before they were married, when they never quarreled. Now that Erasmus knows what the look means, he’ll prevent it and he won’t be caught slipping, there won’t be a next time. They’ll be blissfully happy again.

“Nothing, dearest.”

“No, what were you saying?” Erasmus laughs at Torveld’s eager expression, always so attentive.

“It’s nothing, truly.”

“Alright, I’m sorry again.”

“Oh, stop worrying so much.” Erasmus brushes his thumb between Torveld’s brow, trying to erase the constant frown. It makes his husband smile softly.

“Can’t help it.” Torveld kisses him, in front of everyone and it makes Erasmus blush. “Another thing.”

“Yes?”

“You were wrong, the other night.” That fills Erasmus with guilt and shame, he should’ve known better. He shouldn’t have taken his frustrations out on his husband, he didn’t deserve it. It was not his fault that he had felt lonely.

“I know.”

“You’re not a slave, Erasmus. Not anymore. You’re a prince.” Torveld’s gaze pins him, he craves the directions, he’s been feeling so lost. The lines are so blurry all the time, he’s never sure of how he should act, speak, think. “And I expect you to behave like one, the court does too.”

“I will.” He’s not sure what ‘behaving’ like a prince means. He thinks of Samir, with his now easy smiles. Of Prince Laurent, who had been gentle with him and of Torveld, his husband. He thinks he can manage, put on a bravado. He fondles his wedding ring. Yes, he will manage.

“Look, there they are.” He takes his husband’s arm again, and he tries to not fidget too much, to keep himself still as the Akielon horses trot inside the courtyard. He doesn’t know the kyros but he can recognize him, he’s wearing a blood red cape over his chiton. His youth surprises Erasmus.

The akielons dismount and the kyros climbs the courtyard’s stairs, greets King Torgeir and all of his sons, then Torveld.

“Your grace.” They clasp arms.

“Kyros. I trust your travels went well.”

“They did, beautiful country.” His patran is rough and Erasmus detects an accent, from Aegina perhaps.

“Thank you. My husband, Erasmus.”

“Ah, the other slave-prince.” The comparison to King Damianos delights Erasmus, it’s much better than ‘ _patran-bride_ ’. The akielon even gives him a short bow, like he gave to Samir and his brothers. Erasmus grins at his countryman, it’s a polite smile, he hopes it won’t be misunderstood by Torveld.

“Pleased to meet you, kyros.” The man keeps walking and greets the daughters, until Torgeir calls him over to take the men to their rooms. Torveld and Francio, Torgeir’s eldest, tag along.

“I want him to smother me dead with his thighs.” Samir says, with the most serious look on his face and startles a loud laugh out of Erasmus.

“Ew, who?”

“Why, Illias, of course.”

“Illias?”

“The kyros. Why are you laughing, ‘Rasmus? It’s not funny.” He sounds so offended.

“It kind of is.” Tears of laughter smudge the kohl that lines his eyes and his friend’s face is red, he’s glad patran robes are so bulky, because Erasmus is pretty sure that Samir has a boner. Here, in the courtyard, in the light of day, in front of his sisters.

“What is he so gorgeous for? And he must be what, twenty? Kyros are supposed to be old and full of scars, they always look like that bear in the blue hall.” He’s fanning himself with his right hand, the other one is clutching his chest. Erasmus cannot resist it; he starts giggling again and Samir looks at him, betrayed. “Oh, what would you know? Old-man-fucker.” Erasmus gasps and slaps his arm.

“ _Samir_.”

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s not like I’m lying.”

“You’re a brat.”

“Piss off.” Then he turns to Erasmus and smirks, drapes one of his arms around Erasmus’ shoulders. “Sweet, sweet, sweet Erasmus.”

“No, no. I won’t.”

“You _will_. Please, ‘Rasmus.”

“No.” He tries to say it as firm as he can, but Samir is giving him puppy-dog eyes, so similar to Verenia’s and he cannot resist. “Ugh, alright.”

“Thank you.” He kisses Erasmus’ cheek and then lets him push him away. “You’ll be a guest of honor at our wedding. Ah, can you imagine it?”

“ _Wedding_?” Samir dabs imaginary tears away from his eyes, sniffles a little. Erasmus rolls his eyes.

“Haven’t you heard? Proseria’s wedding is in a month and father wants to marry me off next. Better a kyros than some minor lady, I’d have to live in some country fort and look at these.” He puts both of his hands in front of Erasmus’ face, he swats them away. “My skin is too delicate for farming, what if a cow bites me?”

Erasmus gets what Samir meant that night at dinner, ‘you know me, uncle’, he’s insufferable.

\---

“Where’s the kyros from?” Torveld looks up from the parchment he had been scribbling on.

“Aegina, beloved.”

“I thought so, he has an accent.” Erasmus is sleepy and tipsy after the feast, he scrunches his nose at the thought of Akielos.

“I suppose.”

“And he’s young, why?”

“The last one died, I guess. Damianos must want a younger court too.”

“Damianos.” He stretches under the covers, he wants to go to bed but Torveld insisted on drafting some kind of trade agreement, or a letter, or something. He doesn’t care, he wants to sleep.

“What about him?”

“It’s a long name.” He giggles.

“It is.” Erasmus can tell Torveld’s brushing off, bored of their talk. Lambourgos climbs onto the bed and rubs his head against Erasmus’ curls, purring. He doesn’t know why but it reminds him of Samir in the courtyard and he laughs. “What’s funny?”

“Samir.”

“Why?” Oh, he is not drunk enough to not notice the change in his husband’s voice, how his fingers hold the quill with more force than necessary. “Answer me, Erasmus.”

“Why do you think your brother would want to marry him off? He’s a prince, not a princess.” Wrong answer, he knows it as soon as the words come out of his mouth, but his brain is a bit fuzzy from the drink. He reaches out and holds Lambourgos close to his chest, for comfort.

He can see Torveld standing up, getting away from the desk, crossing the archway and stepping into the bedchamber. He stops by the blue chaise, brushes the cat’s hair off of it.

“Are you fond of your kitten, Erasmus?”

“What? Yes.” Lambourgos licks Erasmus’ fingers. Verenia told him that they do that because they like the saltiness of skin. His husband is staring at the cat and his mouth is downturned but Erasmus cannot focus on what he’s supposed to do, or say? He wants to go to sleep.

“How fond?” The question makes him smile, he loves Lambourgos. Unexpectedly, considering that he had never kept any kind of pet before. He kisses the cat’s head before replying.

“Very much so, I love him like I’d love a child.” His husband walks over the bed, stares down at him. There’s a glint to his eye and a snarl to his lips.

“How sweet.” Fear fills Erasmus although he’s not sure what he’s frightened of. The memory of the girls on his wedding day crosses his mind, Sidonia’s sad eyes. It feels shameful, being afraid of his husband when Torveld has freed him, indulged him, kept him safe. He even married no-name-akielon-slave Erasmus and this is how he’s repaying him, tainting their love with this horrible feeling. “Then, my boy, you will do well remembering that I _despise_ this cat of yours on the bed.”

Torveld snatches Lambourgos away, holding him by the skin of its neck as if it were one of his pup-hounds. In distress, the cat swivels around, trying to turn and scratch. It’s no use, Torveld has it at arm-length. His husband starts to walk away with him.

Erasmus tries to go after them but the moment he stands up, dizziness clouds his vision and makes the world whirl around him. He presses his palms to his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. When he squints them open he can see Torveld open the room that leads to the hall, closing it to leave the cat out of their rooms. He turns to Erasmus and walks over to the bedchamber.

“I’ll get rid of the cat if I ever see it on the bed again.” His husband says, growling the words before closing the bedchamber’s door from the outside. Erasmus can hear him sitting down at his desk again, writing.

That would be the first time Lambourgos sleeps anywhere else than their blue chaise. Punishment.

\---

“Excuse me, your grace, but what happened to the other akielon slaves?” They’re supposed to be entertaining Kyros Illias during a luncheon in the gardens, Erasmus is distracted though. He’s not sure about how he feels, or of how he should be feeling. His slave training did not cover this and he doubts asking the girls is a good idea. He does not know who he should turn to, or talk to. He’s become unused to this, to having to discern moods and emotions. He used to be so good at it, he remembers guessing what people would feel before they felt it themselves. Now, it’s almost like every step he takes is a false one, he does not understand Torveld and he feels so lost.

It’s not like his husband is a different person, right now he’s sweetly holding Erasmus’ hand, but there’s been other _incidents_ like the cat one and the one in their sitting room. It makes him doubt of that night, when he felt irrational for _being_ angry. Torveld is mostly irrational when he’s angry, Erasmus finds. He’s still gentle, though, and kind and loving but he does not tell Erasmus what he’s expecting from him and making assumptions is a slippery ground.

So, Erasmus hasn’t said a word of this to anyone and his husband’s volatile mood might unsettle him, but he’s happy. He loves Torveld and Torveld loves him, that’s what marriage it’s about. He’s sure that this is temporary and that it’ll end soon enough, one day he’ll look back at this and maybe wince but it’ll be alright, it’s only a bump on the road and after all, only death will do them part.

“Beloved?” Right, he was supposed to answer Illias.

“Oh, they went back home to Akielos after being freed, kyros.”

“And you did not.” That’s a weird answer, it will probably upset Torveld.

“Why would I? Patras is my home now.” He squeezes his husband’s hand. He truly has no reason to go back to Akelios or to long for one, Kallias could be one, but he’s no more than a ghost in Erasmus’ memory. And he is not lonely and friendless anymore, he would miss Samir and Verenia if he left Bazal.

“I see. Have you visited Akelios recenty?”

“We have not.” Torveld answers from him, his voice is polite but Erasmus can see all the tell-tales of tension.

“Ah, you should, your grace. The country is thriving under the new rule.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You really should see it for yourselves, and pay my estate a visit. Aegina is beautiful, especially in spring.”

“We will, if we ever travel there. Thank you, kyros.” Illias smiles at them, appeased, and then Francio pulls him away. Erasmus glances at his husband, he looks calmer and he takes the opportunity the luncheon presents. They’re relatively alone, but still in public, which means Torveld will make an effort to control his emotions and keep any argument from escalating.

“Dearest.” Torveld hums in response, distracted by a tangerine. “It’s about the kyros.” He promised Samir he’d do as much as he could to trim a path between him and the kyros. Apparently, diplomatic visits do not include romancing with your hosts’ younger sons and apparently, a younger son is not allowed to disrupt guests for those purposes either. So, it falls on Erasmus’ shoulders to play matchmaker.

“Oh, yes. He wants to take a walk, or a meal, with you.” That’s to be expected, he supposes.

“He could break fast with us then, before the frenzy of the hunt settles in.”

“No, Erasmus. With _you_.” If Erasmus was allowed to curse, he would do so in this moment.

“What? Why?”

“He’s your countryman, I guess that’s why.” Torveld offers him a piece of the fruit, Erasmus takes it between his fingers obediently. “It’ll be good for you, give you a chance to sharpen your _princely skills_ ,” He says it with a grin, the one that makes his eyes crinkle, it confuses Erasmus, shouldn’t he be fuming? “and you’ll be able to talk in akielon again, which you never do anymore.” Now he looks concerned, his eyes are soft and Erasmus wants to kiss his entire face, this is good.

Torveld’s fine with this, he even seemed excited. No matter his own worries regarding having to speak his mother tongue, no matter he hates doing it more and more each day, he’ll manage. This is a step in the right direction, and it’ll also help Samir. It’s perfect.

“Don’t you miss it?”

“I do not.”

“Why?” He’s tilting his head and his brow is furrowed, a child-like expression. It makes Erasmus spill out the truth.

“It always puts me in sad moods. I do not like being sad.”

“Oh, sweet boy.” Torveld caresses his cheek and he leans into the touch, swallowing the tears that bubble up in his throat. “I’m sorry then, that I’m asking you to do this.”

“No, it’s alright. It’ll be good for me.”

\---

He can do this, he’s sure of it. It’s something he knows, he was raised up for this, for charm and politeness and diplomacy. He just needs to make himself more prince-like than slave-like. He’ll manage, he has no doubts of it.

“You’re more jittery than I am, ‘Rasmus.”

“Don’t, not right now.”

“No, seriously, you need to calm down.”

“I am making you a favor, Samir. You shouldn’t be here, so do _not_.” He couldn’t hold back the biting tone, but that’s fine. It’s Samir, he’s used to it. They hear Callinia opening the double doors that lead to the hall, Lambourgos goes to hide under the bed.

“Oh here he comes. I hope he’s wearing that thin chiton; you know the one? It’s almost see-through, dear gods.” He says it in the fastest voice Erasmus’ ever heard, like he’s vomiting the words after a kick to the stomach.

“ _Gross_.” Erasmus stands up to greet Illias, closes his eyes for half a second, pulls himself together.

“Your grace.”

“Kyros.” The man clasps his arm, like he did with Torveld and Eramus mimics the movement. That’s the first time he’s done it. It thrills him. “I hope you do not mind that Prince Samir is accompanying us.”

“I do not. Your grace.”

“Kyros, call me Samir, all my friends do.” Oh, his akielon is good. And it’s like he’s slipped on a mask, all charismatic half-smiles instead of his wreck of a personality, more puppy than prince.

“Then you must call me Illias, Samir.”

“Will do.” There it is, another grin. He touches Erasmus’ shoulder. “I’ll go fetch our charge then, so we can be on our way.” That’s their excuse. They’re meant to take his bird to Verenias’ rooms, Erasmus will make enough conversation with the kyros on the walk there, making sure to take the long way so Illias does not take offense and then he’ll leave him with Samir. It’s a good plan.

“Is that a bird?” Samir has come back with the cage in his hands and holds it up for the kyros to see.

“Yes, my songbird, Nettarion.” Erasmus grins at its name, tries to ignore the fact that he’s not speaking patran, he’ll let the melancholy hit him later, when he’s alone. “We’re taking it to his sister, she’s good with them.” They walk out of his rooms together, Illias beside Erasmus and Samir trailing behind politely, as it was the plan.

“With birds?”

“Yes, she keeps hawks but all birds are alike, in a way. We want to see if our friend here can copy a hawk’s call.” The kyros chuckles and lifts an eyebrow. They arch prettily, Erasmus will give that to him.

“How? Or more like, why, your grace?”

“Supposedly, it can sing in four hundred voices. It mimics other bird’s yawps.”

“I’ve never heard of such bird before, your grace.”

“Oh, it was a wedding gift. Its from Vere’s new islands.” Illias whistles and it makes Erasmus let out a short laugh. He remembers to walk with his hands behind his back, like men do.

“Alright, enough about the bird. May I ask you a question, your grace?”

“You may, though I might not answer, kyros.” They are in the hall that opens into a view of the royal gardens now. Too far away from the daughter’s wing, he can’t avoid the question.

“Fair enough. How come you ended up here, as a prince?”

“Only in name, kyros, it’s no more than a title.”

“Still.”

“Well, by marrying my husband, of course.” The kyros laughs at his attempts at deflection, though not rudely.

“You know what I mean, your grace.”

“We met when I was sent to Vere.”

“With King Damianos? Did you meet him?”

“Yes, once.”

“And King Laurent?”

“He was the one to gift me to Torveld, and my husband brought me here to Bazal. Then he freed me and we married. That’s it.”

“I take it was a lovematch then.” Erasmus blushes, as he does most of the time, when he thinks of Torveld.

“It was. You said you were from Aegina?”

“Yes, have you ever been?”

“No, I had never been out of Ios before I was taken to Vere.” He does not allow Illias to dwell on the topic of Ios, or his boyhood. “You’re a young kyros, why?”

“Ah, I inherited from my father. He retired early, it had been a couple of rough years before I took his place, they tired him out.”

“Rough?”

“Yes, very. After the war with Vere, well, the province lost attention from Ios when Delpha was annexed, it made it harder to get funds when it started flooding,”

“Flooding?” Erasmus had never heard of that happening, but it’s not like it mattered for his training at the slave gardens.

“Yes, severe, we recovered but it took all of our efforts.”

“I’m glad, then.”

“Thank you, your grace. Will you join us in the hunt?”

“Oh, no. I don’t ride.”

“Will you, Samir?” Perfect timing, Verenia’s rooms are in the next hall.

“I will.”

“Then you must cheer for us, your grace, if you do not join the men.”

“I wouldn’t dare, kyros. I’ve got to cheer for my husband, don’t I?” It makes Illias laugh and Erasmus counts this whole what, errand? Assignment? Whatever it was, as a win. It was even enjoyable enough.

Though he tries not to think of the tongue he’s speaking in, he bottles it in for later, when he might seek comfort in Torveld, his husband is good at consoling him and doesn’t seek answers Erasmus is not willing to share. He’ll be fine.

“Well, this is my stop, kyros. I apologize for cutting this short.” He takes the birdcage from Samir, who is grinning at him. Erasmus wants to roll his eyes.

“No need, your grace.”

“Still, I hope we can talk more after the hunt.”

“Of course, your grace.” Erasmus nods and leaves them to it, entering Verenia’s rooms hurriedly, without knocking. He doesn’t want to hear Samir’s attempts at flirtation, he cringes just from the thought and Verenia laughs at his grimace, not even greeting him.

“How was it?” She takes the cage from him, sets it on one of her ornate tables.

“Not right now, please. I’m still recovering.”

“Samir is a slut; I wonder how he hasn’t been tied down by some pregnant lady by now.”

“ _Verenia_.”

\---

 _Yo que tanto te camelo_ / _Y tú me la vienes haciendo_ / _Que tú de aquí no sales_ // _Mucho más a mí me duele_ / _De lo que a ti te está doliendo_ _/ Conmigo no te equivoques_ / _Con el revés de la mano_ / _Yo te lo dejo bien claro_ // _Amargas penas te vendo_ / _Caramelos también tengo_

His husband has hit him. Torveld slapped him, backhanded.

Erasmus sits frozen, on top of the embroidered bed covers. He hates these ones, they’re too scratchy.

He doesn’t even cry, too shocked for any emotion. His husband has hit him.

His cheek stings, burns. Erasmus walked into the room, all but a moment ago, to find that Illias had gifted him an akielon vase, in polite gratitude for their walk yesterday. Torveld was sitting beside it. It had a scene from a myth painted in black, portraying the akielon sun god.

Torveld had stood up, walked towards Erasmus and slapped him. His husband had never hit him before; he had always been gentle. He doesn’t even leave marks when they make love, not a single bruise or love-bite. And now he has hit Erasmus.

He hadn’t looked angry or upset or anything, he had been the picture of peacefulness. And he hadn’t seemed surprised after, as if it hadn’t been unexpected, as if it hadn’t been too hard to keep his jealousy in check, as if he hadn’t meant it, like Samir and Verenia when they roughhouse too hard by accident. He looked like he did it on purpose, like he had been waiting for a chance to do it.

Erasmus calls for Sidonia, asks her to take the vase anywhere else.

\---

It’s the morning of the hunt. Erasmus is putting on his yellow robe, Torveld’s favorite. Callinia put a cream on his cheek after last afternoon’s _incident_ , and it has worked, he has not bruised. As if nothing had happened.

He brushes his curls himself, he does not adorn them with any jewel or ribbon. He puts on every single one of his rings, two on each finger. Sidonia lines his eyes with kohl.

When they are outside, in the palace’s hunting grounds, he dutifully stands beside his husband’s blue stallion. He obediently looks up, stands on his tiptoes and lets himself be kissed, once on the lips, once on the forehead and on both of his lids.

He does not greet Illias. He goes to sit with Prosenia and Verenia under an awning, holds one of Torgeir’s youngest on his lap and keeps a polite, demure smile on his face. Slave-prince, patran-bride.

He can see the kyros and his friend from where he sits, speaking astride of their horses. They are grinning at eachother. It makes Erasmus happy, at least this has borne its fruit.

He glances at Torveld’s hounds, his pride and joy. They are not King Laurent’s wolfhounds, Torveld said they are still too young for a hunt, but his own slim greyhounds. They are a flurry of black and tan, but calmer than the harrier dogs who cannot seem to stop yipping and howling, they make his head ache.

Awhile later, Torgeir calls for the hunting party to ride and the men stride off, out of their sight, and Erasmus can breathe easier. Verenia goes on and on about her hawks, which she has lent to her brothers, since she cannot join them.

The men don’t come back until well after lunch. Torveld has a grin plastered on his face and sweat on his temples. They’ve taken down a buck deer and there’ll be a feast in a few hours, they are all laughing merrily and they crowd in the courtyard, patting their horses’ flanks and each other’s backs. All but Samir, who is walking towards him and Verenia.

“Look at you, like a pig rolling in mud.”

“Why, thank you, Verenia. It seems like that’s not the only place I’ll be rolling around tonight.”

“ _Gross_.” Verenia and Erasmus say at the same time.

“Rude. I’ve been working hard for this to happen, _we_ all have.”

“I suppose, doesn’t make you less vulgar, Samir.”

“Piss off. Well, is the kyros looking this way?” Erasmus turns to the courtyard discreetly.

“Yes, he is.” Samir smiles, canines on display.

“Sweet Erasmus, do not castrate me, please.”

“What?” Samir grabs Erasmus’ face in his hands, too quick for him to move away and kisses him, full on the mouth, in front of everyone. He knows Torveld has seen them and he can feel tears rolling down his cheeks the moment Samir lets go of him.

“ _Samir_.” Verenia hisses.

“Oh, don’t cry. ‘Rasmus, don’t cry, what’s wrong?” Erasmus can’t stop sobbing; he has never been more scared in his life. He does not want to look over towards Torveld, he wants the earth to swallow him down, he wants to die. “It’s just a kiss, ‘Rasmus, why are you crying?” Samir is baby-voicing his words and he tries to hold Erasmus’ hands.

“Why would you do that? Why would you do this to _me_?” He spits out.

“I had to make him jealous and you’re the only akielon I talk to, besides Illias himself. I’m sorry? Why are you crying? I’m sorry, ‘Rasmus?”

“Samir, are you _fucking_ stupid?”

“What? Why?”

“Were you dropped on your head as a child?” Verenia looks furious.

“ _Oh_.” Erasmus doesn’t want to look at the courtyard, but when he does, Torveld is looking at the three of them, a calm look on his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry Erasmus, I’m sorry. I’ll explain it to uncle Torveld, he’ll understand.” Erasmus knows he should go their rooms, stay there and wait for his judgement. He does not know what awaits him, but he knows it won’t be good and he begs to every deity he can think of to make Torveld understand, to help and protect Erasmus.

He knows he should leave, and so he does. He hurries out of the yard, walks as fast as he can through the halls. He barges into their rooms and orders every servant to leave, goes to pick up Lambourgos and he locks the cat in Torveld’s study. His hands shake around the doorknob. Trying to stop his tears is no use, he sits on the blue chaise and sobs.

When Torveld walks into the rooms, half an hour later, Erasmus runs into his arms and begs.

“Please, dearest, please. I do not know why he did that, please.”

“Oh, I know.” His husband’s eyes are tender, the brown irises like melted jams.

“You do? I am so sorry, he didn’t tell me he would do that, Torveld.”

“I know.”

“I would have never allowed it, if he had told me.”

“Of that, I do not know.” The tips of Erasmus’ fingers start to feel cold. Dread.

“What?”

“Has he kissed you, before?”

“What? _No_.” Torveld holds his head by the nape of his neck. Looks into his eyes, boring into every part of Erasmus with his gaze. He feels tears begin to form again, lets out a sniffle.

“I don’t believe you.”

“He hasn’t, Torveld. I would never, please.” His husband’s hands wrap around his throat and Erasmus chokes.

“I should have known.” He lets go of his windpipe just to grab him by the hair, to drag him all the way to their bedchamber. In a moment of clarity, or maybe madness, Erasmus feels rage.

“I would _never_.” He snarls. “And I have never, Torveld. I have _not_.”

“Oh, but you have, sweet boy.” His husband lets him push himself free of his grasp, to stand one in front of the other, both of their faces red from fury.

“I have _not_. I’ve married you, Torveld. I am here, in your forsaken country, because you asked me to. I’ve stayed with you after I was freed, because you asked me to. I’ve done my best to make you happy, to take your hatred. I have taken your blows too, by now.” He’s yelling, at this point, he clenches his fists. “I have _not_ been unfaithful, we made our vows and I haven’t dishonored them. Why do you not believe me?” Torveld has turned stone-faced, no sign of emotion and that outrages Erasmus, makes him crazed. “Or is that it? You cannot believe me?” He knows fire well, bears its’ marks and he knows he will be burned, but he can’t stop himself, he’s so angry. “I am _not_ Bardas, but gods, I wish I was. I wish I were freed from you, like he is.”

As soon as he’s done talking, Torveld rattles him against the wall, making Erasmus see stars and Torveld grabs his curls again, backhands him like yesterday, twice on each cheek. Erasmus gasps from the pain and before he can recover, he’s pushed onto the bed. Torveld straddles his back and twists his arm, grabs him by the chin, turning his head towards the arched windows.

“See that, beloved? That’s the only view of the sky you’ll ever see, from now on.” Torveld unhands him, walks away from the bed. “If you try to escape, you’ll regret it, Erasmus.” He locks the door from the outside. Punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of the breeze blowing by / For lifting your hair / And of the gold that dresses you / For hanging from your neck / And of the sky and the moon / For you wanting to look at them / Even of the water you drink / When it wets your lips
> 
> I've sweet-talked you for so long / And you're forcing me to make sure / That you don't leave from here // It's hurting me more / Than it's hurting you / Don't mess with me / With the back of my hand / I make it clear to you // Bitter sorrows I sell you / I have sweets too
> 
> Erasmus: "Who am I supposed to spend time with? With Verenia the child?"  
> Erasmus literally twelve hours later: me and the bestie <<<333
> 
> Torveld: I can't talk right now, I'm doing real hot girl shit *manipulates his husband into being a tool for his self-sabotage*
> 
> One of the main symbols used in El Mal Querer is hell, and this was Erasmus' slow descent into it.  
> I tried to write Torveld's possessiveness as well as I could. Pienso en tu mirá describes the man being jealous of the sky and of the wind and we have a name for this kind of jealousness in spanish: celos enfermizos. I've met people whose abusers didn't allow them to own male pets or get medical attention for fear that the doctor would be a man. It goes beyond the sickness of 'enfermizo'.  
> I also imagine that Erasmus wouldn't be able to recognize this brand of possessiveness until it was too late, he had probably been taught that jealousy should be expected or even craved, that it was a sign of love or of being wanted, as many of us are told during our lives.
> 
> Torveld’s greyhounds are Persian Salukis, the harriers are Beagles.


	3. RENIEGO / PRESO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lament / Closure.

_Reniego de mi sino_ / _Como el reniego_ / _Como el reniego_ / _Oh, ay, ay, de la horita que te he conocido_

Erasmus cries himself to sleep, before Torveld comes back and wakes up mid-morning, alone in the room. Every muscle in his body hurts, he knows his face is bruised just by the feel of it and his head aches. It’s not the worst pain he’s ever been in, not after Vere, but he can feel a soreness in his chest that hurts the most, it’s heartbreak.

He cannot convince himself that he deserves this, that it’s his fault. So he doesn’t.

He stays in bed the entire day. Ignores Arethas when he lets Callinia in, who brings him a tray with food. Ignores Lambourgos when he takes his chance and sneaks into the room before the steward locks the door again, and when the cat starts meowing urgently, wanting attention. Ignores Torveld when he comes to bed after dinner.

Erasmus stays in bed for five days and four nights. The fifth, he relents before his husband falls asleep.

“Torveld?”

“Yes, my boy?”

“I’m sorry.” And he starts crying. Torveld holds him against his chest, running a hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him.

“Oh, it’s alright, it’s fine. No need to cry, gorgeous.” Erasmus sobs harder, rubs his face against his husband’s chest. Torveld makes him come apart with sweet words and gentle touches, it builds Erasmus back up. He’s not strong enough for this, he does resent him, and he thinks he always will, but he allows himself this, if only for tonight.

\---

The next morning, after Torveld leaves for his duties, the bitterness is back, as Erasmus had expected.

How dare he? How dare he ruin this, their marriage, the life they’ve built together? How dare he taint Erasmus, sweet Erasmus, with his hatred, with his violence? How dare he make him rot like this? He’ll die inside these four walls, alone, with that beast of a man; he’s put to waste all of his slave training, he’s trapped Erasmus with him, forever, he’s been enslaved again and he had not realized, not until today. How dare he?

He spends the entire morning screaming himself hoarse, not caring if the servants outside can hear him, nor the courtiers, for that matter. He throws a flower vase at Arethas when he tries to come in to leave the days’ meal. He thrashes a bookshelf, spills a pitcher of wine over each one of the books.

Erasmus does not care, he simply doesn’t. The only clear thoughts in his head are that he hates Torveld, with all of his soul, and that he hates Kallias too, he should’ve stayed in Ios and they should’ve died together, they should’ve slashed each other’s throats bloody and shared a pyre, instead of being separated.

When night comes, he pushes Torveld away, pretends he doesn’t hear him when his husband holds one of the books up and warns him.

“You better stop this, Erasmus.”

\---

 _Te atrapa sin que te des cuenta_ / _Te das cuenta cuando sales_ / _Piensas: "¿Cómo he llegado hasta aquí?"_

The anger lasts a fortnight. After that, he embraces this wretch of a punishment with open arms. He’s done wallowing in his captivity, if he cannot be free, then he’ll learn to live like he’s expected to, he’s done it before. He seeks comfort in Torveld, in Lambourgos and the songbird, in every piece of furniture and brick on the wall. He asks his husband for a book or a puzzle, anything to keep himself entertained and Torveld fills the broken bookshelf with new leatherbounds.

After a moon’s turn, Erasmus is used to his pretty cell, and he’s happy again.

Now that Erasmus has ‘calmed down’, Torveld spends the afternoons with him, in their room. He cherishes this time with his husband. Right now, Torveld is running his hands through Erasmus’ curls after recounting his day, complaining about state matters and he remembers the idea he had, all those weeks ago.

“Dearest, are you happy here, in Bazal?”

“What?”

“Are you happy here, at court?” His husband stares down at him, tilting his head to the side, he scratches Erasmus’ scalp.

“Are _you_ not happy here, Erasmus?”

“I cannot be my happiest if you’re unhappy, Torveld.” He thinks of Torveld’s restlessness, how his mood had worsened after he had settled in his brother’s council. He thinks of the both of them, together, in their own separate household, of Torveld’s hounds running in country fields, of Lambourgos with barn cats and best of all, living by themselves with only a handful of servants, with no one capable of stealing him away in Torveld’s eyes. He thinks of being free again, relatively free, they would still be married. “And I can tell you’re unhappy.”

“Can you?” Torveld smiles at him, fond.

“Of course, you’ve been so stressed. I know you’d prefer being on border duty or anything else.”

“We’ve talked about this before, that would take you away from me.” The thought of Torveld dying in a Vaskian raid crosses his mind, he pushes it away.

“Yes, that’s why I’ve been thinking.”

“Have you?” Torveld widens his eyes, as if it were unbelievable, and then presses their foreheads together, they both laugh.

“Yes.”

“Well, what have you been brewing in that lovely head of yours?” Erasmus gives him a chaste kiss, smiling.

“We should move away; don’t you have some estate or farm or a plot of land, as a prince?”

“I do. It pays for all of your pretty robes and silks.”

“Then why don’t we live there? Us both, together?” His husband pulls away, thinking.

“Would you want that?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you know I’ve never liked court. And Torveld, I want you to be happy.”

“I _am_ happy.”

“Happier, then.” Erasmus takes his hands in his, kisses his frown away, smiles at him as wide as he can.

“Torgeir won’t like it.”

“But you’ll do, we’ll do.” He climbs into Torveld’s lap, takes his head in his hands and pecks his nose. “You know I’m right, dearest, come on.”

“Alright then, I’ll see what I can do, beloved.” They grin at each other.

\---

It gets better after that. After another month, the girls can attend him again, spend time with him, and Verenia is allowed to visit every other day, as long as Arethas is in the room too. He doesn’t dare ask about Samir and the kyros, and Verenia is careful to not bring it up.

“I’ll be fifteen next week.” She’s laying on the blue chaise, petting Lambourgos. Erasmus sits by the window, he tries to get as much sun as he can during the day.

“Will you? Why didn’t you tell me?” She rolls her eyes. “Well, what do you want me to gift you?”

“You’re supposed to figure that out yourself, ‘Rasmus.”

“I’m getting you nothing then.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“So rude, I won’t even congratulate you.” He won’t get her another bird. Maybe he’ll ask Torveld to commission her a birdcage, she’d probably like that.

“Father said we’ll have a feast, a small one.”

“I’d expect that, it’s your name day.”

“Do you think uncle Torveld will let you attend?” Erasmus glares at her. She knows he prefers to not talk about it, to pretend that this is normal, that it has always been this way.

“What color will your dress be? You can borrow some of my jewelry, if you want.” Verenia chuckles at that.

“No, thank you, dear sister.”

“That’s it, I’m never being nice to you again.”

\---

The next month, Erasmus is allowed into the sitting rooms again and he makes use of them as much as he can, the bedchamber had begun to feel claustrophobic. He misses Verenia’s name day, and Samir’s and then his own too. Torveld gets him another bookshelf, stacked full and a kithara, some pretty robes too, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, rejection* / I resent my fate / Like the rejection / Like the rejection / Oh, ay, ay the hour that I met you 
> 
> It catches you without you realizing / You realize when you get out / And you think: "how did I end up here?"
> 
> *GENIUS lyrics interpret "reniego" as rejection, but it's closer to lamenting or complaining.


	4. BAGDAD / DI MI NOMBRE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liturgy / Ecstasy.

_De las luces_ / _Sale un ángel que cayó_ / _Tiene una marca en el alma_ / _Pero ella no se la vio_

Erasmus is feeding Lambourgos bite-sized pieces of meat. He’s been trying to teach him tricks as Verenia told him they could learn, just like dogs and parrots.

“That’s impressive.”

“Let him be, he’s a very smart boy, I’m sure he’ll get it soon.” He can’t get the cat to jump from one chair to another, but he sits when he’s told to, it makes him proud.

“I don’t doubt it.” Erasmus sticks his tongue out at Torveld. “I come bearing news, my boy.”

“Do you?” He lets Lambourgos go and goes to sit with his husband on a low couch, kisses him in greeting.

“Yes.”

“Oh, come on, I want to know.” Torveld lets out a short laugh.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s impressive.” He mimics Torveld’s tone from earlier.

“Hush. And I think you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have.” Erasmus tries to keep his face neutral but he’s _thrilled_. Will he be allowed to be outside again? To see Samir? At least visit Verenia in her rooms? Even one afternoon in the gardens will do, or a dinner in the main hall.

“And it has to do with the second set of news.”

“What is it?”

“My brother has allowed us to leave court.” His husband radiates happiness, it’s contagious. His answer comes high-pitched.

“He did? Oh, that’s so good, are you excited?”

“Of course, ‘Rasmus.”

“What’s the first thing, then?” Torveld laughs at his eagerness, like he isn’t about to betray him.

“You cannot take those two girls with you.”

“What? Why? Sorry, but why?”

“You know why. They’re too soft on you.” What is that supposed to mean? Erasmus feels angry, like before, like the night of the hunt. He frowns.

“Then who’s going-.”

“I’ve gotten you another servant, he’ll start attending you tomorrow.” A man? There’s a catch somewhere, he’s sure of it. It’ll be another little spy, like Arethas, or he’ll be cruel, sent to torture Erasmus. He swallows back all of his feelings, he’ll manage.

“Alright. Will you show me where the estate is?” That makes Torveld give him a peck on the cheek.

“Yes, sweet boy. Go get the book with the map.”

They sit together at Torveld’s desk, under candlelight. His husband points at a province southeast of Bazal.

“It’s near the sea.” Like Ios.

“Talk to me about it?” And Torveld does. He tells Erasmus that he hasn’t visited in a few years; that it’s a fort but it’s not rustic, although he wouldn’t mind it, that the steward there keeps sheep. He describes every room to Erasmus.

That night, he dreams of the keep, Dabanas. He sees himself and Torveld, happy again. His songbird perched on an apple tree, a litter of Lambourgos’ kittens, a big pack of hounds for his husband. Even himself, learning how to ride. He dreams of beach mornings, swimming in the sea before the sun is high, of evenings in front of a big fireplace. Of running his own household, of being allowed to be around servants and cooks again, of being let out of a set of rooms. He dreams of his husband dying from a bad draft brought by a sea-storm, of freedom.

When he wakes up, he sees a ghost. Erasmus gasps, pats the space beside his in bed, trying to let Torveld know that he’s having a nightmare, the spot is cold. Kallias smiles down at him. _Kallias_.

“Pick up your jaw, your grace. Your husband is _very_ gullible, but that one is not.” He is speaking in akielon, Arethas stands on the bedchamber’s archway. Erasmus closes his mouth, he understands, breaths out once and turns to the steward, puts on a quizzical look.

“Arethas, sir?”

“Your new servant, appointed by the prince, your grace. Sidonia and Callinia won’t attend to you anymore.” He seems proud of himself, stupid man.

“I see, thank you, Arethas.” The steward walks out of the door, and keeps walking, and keeps walking. He crosses the rooms’ threshold, out into the hall. He leaves the two of them alone. Unbelievable.

“He doesn’t know akielon, does he?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Erasmus hisses, sitting up.

“I’ve come to take you away, of course.”

“No. I can’t do this. No. Leave.” He is shaking his head erratically and his temples hurt already, he wants to cry, he wants to scream at Kallias, he wants to kiss him and he wants him out of his sight, out of his life again.

“A beautiful reunion.”

“ _How_ are you here? What have you done to Torveld?” His husband would never allow this, he can imagine Torveld’s face when he finds out, the outrage and the punishment that’ll come.

“I lied to him, obviously. He’s not very smart, is he?”

“He will kill you, he will.” Erasmus is panicking, what is he supposed to do? Should he call for Torveld? Let him know?

“Oh, I know. I’ve heard all the gossip and every one of the rumors.” At that, sense comes into Erasmus, remembers what Torveld’s done to him and looks at Kallias, at his handsome face. His black hair is down to his waist now, dark as midnight. And there’s a small scar under his right eye. Oh, his eyes, how he has dreamed of them. Erasmus feels tears come into his own.

“ _Kallias_.” The boy, not a boy anymore, he supposes; climbs into the bed too and cradles Erasmus. He runs his hands down Kallias’ back, kisses every bit of skin he can reach. “Oh, Kallias.”

“I know, Erasmus, I know.” He sobs harder at the sound of his name, his name in that lovely voice. Kallias presses their cheeks together, like when they were boys, and Erasmus can feel his breath by his ear, trembling.

“How?” It’s all he can manage to say. Kallias laughs, so lovely, musical.

“Ah, your prince is very, what’s the word?” A multitude of them cross Erasmus’ head, he doesn’t dare say them out loud. “ _Stupid_.” He says it in patran and Erasmus laughs too, oh, how he’s missed him. “King Laurent recommended me, and I told him I have a sick wife, back in Akielos, that I couldn’t live there anymore because I used to be a slave and my master had made enough enemies during his lifetime, who were now _my_ enemies. And that King Laurent tried to help me out but I didn’t want to work for a Veretian snake at Ios, no matter that his majesty found me agreeable. I threw a sick baby in there too, for good measure.”

“Half-truths, then?”

“I do _not_ have a wife, I’m too pretty for that.”

“But how did Torveld-.”

“Oh, he tried to scare me into submission, waved his dick around. I’m a _very_ good actor, I preached ardent and unconditional love to my very real wife.” He believed a man he had just met, but not Erasmus. “And that ugly man was supposed to supervise me, too. At all times.”

“Gods, what did you do to him?”

“I am also _very_ pretty, am I not?”

“Kallias.” Erasmus doesn’t want to think about what Kallias must’ve done, something ugly curls in his chest at his friend’s words.

“I didn’t do anything, or made promises, patrans just are laughably unintelligent folk.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Erasmus presses their foreheads together, Kallias rubs his tumbs over his cheekbones.

“Erasmus, what have you gotten into?” His voice is concerned now and Erasmus shakes his head again.

“I don’t know, Kallias.”

“It’s true, then, what I’ve been told.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll get you out of here, Erasmus, I promise you. Where do you want to go? Vask? Akielos again? Vere? Kempt?”

“I can’t.” He chokes out, feels hot tears on his face. “I _can’t_ , Kallias.”

“We can, don’t you see? We won’t be separated again, I swear, we could marry, if we wanted to. I’ll take you out of here and we’ll be alright, we’ll be free together.” Erasmus lets go of him, crawls to Torveld’s side of the bed.

If Kallias only knew how he longs for just that, how he’s yearned for it during the years. He thinks of his friend, his love, against the white cliffs of Ios, of him lying on a Veretian flowerbed, swimming in a patran lake, tending to a garden, scratching Lambourgos’ chin. Of them, together, living in a sea-side cottage, a cabin deep in a forest, a sunny farm, a small house in a village.

He thinks of Kallias’ deep blue eyes, his dark skin, his dazzling smile, his graceful hands, his quick wit, his pitch-black locks. Oh, his hair, Erasmus wants to drape it over themselves like a curtain, to hide them from the world; he wants to bury himself in it, to never come out, to wake up every morning with that mane suffocating him, to twist his hands in it, to tug at it. Erasmus has never wanted anything more, desired it as much, craved something so badly as his Kallias but he can’t, there’s no way. If they ran away, Torveld would kill them both, with his bare hands or by the law. He is a married man, a married slave, with no skills or knowledge, with no future. It’s the worst tragedy, a miserable fate. There’s no way.

And he thinks of his husband too, how Torveld’s all he’s ever had these last few years, his rock and his dearest, his lover and his keeper.

“No, Kallias. I can’t, I love him.”

“ _Oh_.”

“I do love you still, but-.”

“No, I understand, Erasmus.” Kallias stands up and holds out his hand for Erasmus to take, he grasps it desperately. “We’ll stay with your prince, then.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll be harder for you though, I think.”

“Why would it be?”

“Besides the obvious?” Kallias tone is clipped, reproachful, maybe even possessive, but it does not frighten Erasmus. “Well, you’re supposed to hate me, at least for a week or two. Have you learnt how to lie by now?”

“No.”

“I’ll teach you, then. You were friends with your servants, weren’t you? That’ll help you”

“Yes. Do you know why he took them away? He didn’t give me a proper reason.”

“Oh. The green eyed one was passing notes about you to another prince, a young one.”

“ _Samir_.”

“Yes. Your husband found out.”

“Why Callinia? He could’ve just asked Verenia.”

“I guess your husband threatened her too.” Kallias has a frown on his mouth, and Erasmus finds that he still taps his collarbones when he’s deep in thought.

“Do you know if Samir married a kyros?”

“You don’t know? He’s engaged to a Vaskian noble, a daughter of the Empress.”

“Why do _you_ know?” Kallias laughs at him, his eyes twinkling.

“I’ve been living in Bazal for three months, Erasmus. I came here with the other akielons.”

“ _What_? Wait, King Laurent?”

“Oh, Erasmus. This whole coup d’état thing the nobles had going on has put me through hell, I swear. I want to retire already.”

\---

Torveld comes back hours after Kallias has left and Erasmus can see he’s brought something with him, he walks into the bedchamber and presents it to Erasmus. It’s a tapestry.

“It’ll go in Dabanas’ main hall. Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Erasmus gets closer to it, brushes a finger over the silk. Two peacocks sit upon a deep crimson backdrop, curved designs in gold cover most of the drapery. “I love it. Thank you.” Torveld kisses his forehead and tugs on one of his curls before trying to put the tapestry away. He’s folding it instead of rolling it up, for some reason. Erasmus makes an effort not to laugh but he cannot stop himself.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Putting this thing away, why?”

“No reason. Do you want me to help you?”

“I can manage, thank you.”

He leaves his husband to it, climbing under the covers, brushing away one of Kallias’ dark hairs. It takes Torveld ten minutes to figure it out, it makes Erasmus bursts into giggles again.

“Wicked boy, do not mock me.” He drags the bedcovers away and tickles Erasmus, who shrieks and tries to push him away.

“Please, please, I’m sorry.” Erasmus says between laughs. He’s missed this, he realizes. This kind of easy love, affection, touches. That’s how their entire relationship had been like before, carefree and effortless. All contented smiles and leisure afternoons.

He glances at Torveld, he’s wearing that grin that’s only for Erasmus, devoted and enamored. His husband leans down to kiss him, deep and slow, with his scratchy beard. Erasmus wraps his arms around his neck, buries his fingers in his salt-and-pepper waves. Torveld starts kissing his neck, under his jaw and behind his ears. Erasmus breathes out a sigh.

Torveld grasps his thigh, hooks it over his hip. When his husband’s kisses turn heated, seeking more, Erasmus realizes he has not roused and that there’s no way he could, not with Kallias here, inside the palace walls. This has been ruined too, then. Torveld reaches between Erasmus’ legs and then looks up at him.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m too tired.”

“Oh, it’s alright, beloved.”

“I mean, I can-.”

“No, no. I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, anyway.” Torveld gives him one last kiss and settles in bed. “Erasmus.”

“Yes?”

“Stop frowning. I told you it’s alright.

“Yes, sorry.” Erasmus closes his eyes, tries to sleep instead. His husband sighs and turns to hold him, buries his nose in his curls.

“What’s got you like this? Is it your new servant?” _That_. Erasmus forgot what Kallias had asked him to do, he breathes in and tries to even his voice, keep his hands still, to hide the tell-tales of his lying. Well, not lying. It’s acting, playing pretend.

“I do not like him. Can I have Callinia and Sidonia back? Please, Torveld, I promise-.” He’s interrupted, as expected.

“Hush, you know you can’t, ‘Rasmus, come on. I liked him, why don’t you?” Erasmus knows that’s a trap, not only because he _likes_ Kallias, loves him, but any kind of fondness that he has towards men, or women, never scapes his husband.

“He’s _akielon_ , I’ve told you that I hate-.”

“I thought you’d like that about him. He used to be a slave too, I’d expect he’s very skilled in the whole…” Pleasure slave. “Housekeeping thing, is he not?”

“Why do _you_ like him?”

“I just told you, he also was very polite. And seemed like a family man,” Erasmus remembers Kallias’ ‘I threw in a sick baby too, for good measure’ and tries to hold in the laughter, to not let it show on his face. “remarkably responsible and dutiful. The best candidate to take care of you.” He forces a pout, squints his eyes in displeasure, keeping it natural as Kallias taught him.

“I’m not happy about it. I won’t be.”

“Well, it’s not like that matters, does it?” Torveld _is_ annoyed, Erasmus wants to pat himself on the back. “He’ll go with us to Dabanas too, so it might be good to wrap your pretty head around that idea.” Erasmus sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, pretends to be upset.

“Good night, Torveld.”

“’Night, beloved.” When he feels his husband’s breath even out, Erasmus looks over to the ornate mirror, the golden sword set above it catches the moonlight, he sees himself smiling, proud of himself.

\---

By the end of the first month, Kallias not only has every one of his husband’s men and servants eating out of the palm of his hand, but Torveld himself, too. He had always been better than Erasmus with people, and age has only sharpened him.

“He’ll take you with him to dinner tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It is a test, love, you have to be cautious.” Erasmus already knows that, everything is a trial these days. He’s jittery with excitement, next week would’ve marked his fifth month in confinement, it felt like longer. He pulls Kallias onto his lap, tries and fails to kiss him, they’re both grinning too wide to succeed, their teeth clash together.

“How?”

“I gave him a teary-eyed monologue about leaving my wife behind, I said I was remorseful about missing the best years of our lives by being away from her.”

“Oh, you’re a devil, I swear.” Kallias lets out a loud laugh against the crook of Erasmus’ neck.

“Your prince is well past his prime, though.”

“Shut up.”

“I think it made him feel guilty, not of having you caged in here, of course.”

“I know. He’d love to chain himself to one of the rooms’ pillars too.”

“Dabanas wasn’t your brightest idea, he won’t let you out of his sight.”

Kallias stands up, moves across the room. They’re incredibly careful, Erasmus’ paranoia and Kallias’ brilliance work perfectly together, it should haunt Torveld’s nightmares.

Erasmus’ life is easier, happier, now that he has Kallias back. He’s brimming with gratitude, thanks every god he knows of for this, for giving him another chance. Half-chance. Erasmus knows that he has trapped Kallias, shackled him to Torveld like he is himself, the knowledge terrifies him. He doesn’t miss the way his friend’s eyes harden every time his husband comes into the room, when Torveld touches him.

He knows it is not fair to anyone involved, but there is no path out of this life he’s chosen. And this way, if anything were to happen, Erasmus himself would, will, bear the consequences of their actions. He is too selfish to give Kallias up but he can’t allow him to get them both killed, they cannot run away, Torveld would hunt them down and Kallias is no pet, no slave, he’d be executed for damaging his husband’s goods, stealing an apple from a fruit stand.

Glancing at Kallias’ hands, he realizes that Torveld wouldn’t kill him, he would beat him bloody in that cursed bedchamber and deny Erasmus’ of reuniting with his friend in the afterlife. Torveld would force him to live every day of his life knowing that he killed his friend, carrying that burden. And he doesn’t think he’s capable of living without Kallias, not anymore, he doesn’t know how he managed before but now, he cannot think of a more horrid fate than separation, in life or death.

Kallias is selfish too, he knows that if Torveld discovers them, he’ll be able to escape, run out of Bazal, out of Patras, and Erasmus won’t. Erasmus would be forced to take his husband’s ire. _Their_ husband, now. They’re both under his thumb. Erasmus wouldn’t fault Kallias for taking his leave, if it comes to that.

There is no way out, but they can live like this, they can. Erasmus forces himself to believe it.

“I thought it would make him happy.”

“It will.”

“Not like that. I thought country life would soften him, that keeping me away from court would soothe him.”

“You already _are_ away from court, Erasmus. Has this” Kallias gestures to the room, Erasmus can tell he’s angry, not at him, and he knows he’s trying to not raise his voice for Erasmus’ benefit, but it’s still heated. “softened him? Has it, Erasmus?”

“Yes, it _has_.” Torveld’s moods are rare these days, he seems satisfied enough with this arrangement, punishment. Erasmus remembers their conversation, from long ago, about how unacceptable it was that he hid away in their rooms. It was a trap all along, a leash to bring Erasmus to this point. He feels a bitter taste in his mouth.

“How was it before, then? _Worse_?” He hasn’t told any specific to Kallias, has neither confirmed or denied any rumor. He fears that if he retells it, he’ll start crying, that he’ll never stop, drown himself with his tears.

“Not this, please, Kallias.” Kallias’ eyes bear into him, they’re more intense with his hair tied away from his face. He has to keep his dark locks in a braid now, to prevent him from leaving hair in the bedsheets. They don’t do anything more than kissing, but still, it would look incriminating. He looks more beautiful with his hair loose, but Erasmus think that the braid fits him, makes him look refined, like a man. He suits patran robes too. Oh, Erasmus is so in love, he knows he has a ridiculous and tender look on his face, he knows because Kallias is smiling at him.

“What, now?”

“I want to kiss you.” Kallias rolls his eyes, but he is blushing prettily.

“Later, Erasmus.”

“Alright.”

“So, what are we telling your husband about today?” Erasmus was right, a little spy. Kallias is supposed to let Torveld know of Erasmus’ every twitch and sigh, and Kallias’ detailed, made-up reports appease his husband. If Torveld cannot be there for his every breathing moment, then he’ll covet any testimony of it, and Kallias knows it well. Out of the palm of his hand.

“Tell him I was happy.”

\---

The next evening, Erasmus is changing into his robes, dark blue with golden trimming. He thought of wearing the yellow ones, Torveld’s favorites but decided against it, he wore them the day of the catastrophic hunt, he’s scared of the silks being a bad omen. They might’ve given Torveld ideas too, of Erasmus trying to remind Samir of their kiss.

He takes his husband’s arm, lets himself be led through the halls, lets Torveld pull his chair, lets him rest a possessive hand on his thigh. He keeps a small, pleasing smile on his face that’ll look grateful for Torveld and happy enough for the rest of the court. Kallias told him to not look overtly happy or saddened, that it would make the nobles ask Torveld questions, that it would make them try to be Erasmus’ saviors, and Erasmus knows that his husband would despise that, obviously.

“It’s good to see you attending dinner again, Erasmus.” Prosenia’s the bravest out of all the royal children, then, and she seems like she means it, her eyes are kind. He knows Verenia will ask the motive for Torveld’s indulgence the next afternoon. Erasmus keeps his face and tone neutral when he answers.

“Thank you, your grace.”

Erasmus wills his hands to stay steady, controlled, as he picks up his wine goblet. He’s dizzy with excitement, he wants to peck every courtier on the lips, wants to scream-laugh, wants to gorge himself on every plate on the table, he wants to stand up on his chair and let everyone know how much he’s missed them, yes, all of them, even Torveld’s rude cousin; he wants to hug Samir, congratulate him on his engagement, he wants to sing a ballad like when he was a slave, he wants to call for Kallias and introduce him to everyone, he wants Torveld to choke on the bones of the fish he’s cutting into.

He doesn’t to any of the things he wants, of course. He does allow himself to drink in the sight of the main hall, the heavy tapestries, the candle-holders, the sturdy chairs. When he’s satisfied, he closes his eyes and lets the noise of the courtiers wash over him, his rooms are so quiet all the time. He tries every desert that the cooks offer them tonight too. He doesn’t have a sweet tooth, not really, but cakes and pastries are never brought into his rooms by the servants, he can guess the reason why.

Torveld doesn’t allow them to stay late. His husband offers his arm again, Erasmus takes it obediently, follows him out obediently, walks through the halls obediently, enters their rooms obediently, gets ready for bed obediently.

“Dearest?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” Torveld smiles at him, kisses him on the cheek.

“There’s a reason why I let you accompany me tonight, beloved.” Yes, Kallias.

“There is?”

“Yes. It’s because you’ll be lonelier for a time.”

“What? Why?” Erasmus dreads the unexpected, the unplanned for, the surprises.

“I leave for Dabanas in the morning.” Shouldn’t have Kallias known this? Told him? Is like a rug has been pulled from Erasmus’ feet. Torveld misunderstands his shocked face. “Oh, don’t worry, my boy. I’ll be back in no time.” Erasmus knows why Torveld is telling him now, the night before. There’s no way he’d be able to escape this way, not by himself and Torveld thinks he’s managed to isolate him, keep him friendless. “I’ll come back for you, and we’ll be there together before the autumn sets in.” He, too, knows why Torveld wants to visit the fort first, he hasn’t been there in years, has no control over the keep except for epistolary with some steward. Torveld hates not being the one holding a horses’ reins, he needs to put in the locks before he traps Erasmus into his new cage. In his husband’s eyes, one slip up and Erasmus could be free from his grasp, if he only knew how untrue that is, ‘til death do them part.

And then it hits Erasmus, him and Kallias would be blissfully alone, at least for a week. Even if Torveld barred the rooms’ doors, Kallias would find his way in, knight in shining armor and he too realizes that that wouldn’t even be necessary, Torveld _trusts_ Kallias, thinks him another of Erasmus’ captors, like Arethas has been. Torveld has trapped himself inside his own web and Erasmus knows what he should do, what his role in his husband’s mistake is supposed to be. Erasmus begs.

“You won’t take me with you? Torveld, please, please. Don’t leave me here, Torveld-.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry, sweet thing, I can’t.” Erasmus even manages to cry, to pull at his husband’s robes, he kneels at his feet.

“Please, dearest, take me with you, please.”

“I will, I will, just not right now. I’ll come back for you.”

“No, take me with you, please, please, I’ll do anything, please-.”

“I won’t.” Torveld grabs his curls, makes Erasmus look him in the eye. “Now, listen to me carefully, Erasmus.”

“Yes, dearest.”

“You will not come out of these rooms.”

“I wouldn’t, you know I wouldn’t, please.”

“There is no way you would be able to, beloved. You _will_ stay here.”

“Yes.” His husband lets go of him, Erasmus hurries to the bed, rough touches still put him on edge. He settles under the bedcovers.

“There’s more.”

“Yes, dearest.”

“You’ll stay here, alone, with Arethas and the akielon servant.” _Kallias_. “No visits from Verenia.” Punishment. He knows his act is not over, Kallias has worked hard to make Torveld believe that his mere presence makes Erasmus unhappy, and here it is, the fruit is ripe for the taking.

“Oh, Torveld, just this while, Sidonia and Callinia, please-.”

“ _No_.”

“Please, don’t leave me here with them, please, at least let me see the girls.”

“No, Erasmus.”

Torveld holds him close that night, Erasmus pretends to be inconsolable, sobs uncontrollably, cradles his husband’s face and lets him wipe away his tears, kiss away his fake-sorrow.

\---

 _Di mi nombre_ / _Cuando no haya nadie cerca_ / […] / _Que las cosas_ / _Que las cosas que me dices_ / […] / _No salgan por esa puerta_ // _Y átame con tu cabello_ / _A la esquina de tu cama_ / _Que aunque el cabello se rompa_ / _Haré ver que estoy ata'a_

In the morning, Erasmus dutifully wakes and rises with his husband, sits on a low couch by their rooms’ doors, cries some more, for good measure. Torveld’s men flutter around their bedchamber and his study. Erasmus has to give it to him, he didn’t even pack just to make sure there was no way Erasmus would know. Kallias walks in hurriedly after a moment, gives Torveld a long bow.

“Your grace, I’ve just heard.”

“Ah, yes, good morning.” Erasmus fakes a frown, fills his face with disgust like Kallias insists he uses when he is around, they practiced it their first day back together in front of the mirror. “Now, I doubt you’ll need to write this down. My husband is not to leave our rooms.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“He can’t receive any kind of message, letters, you know, the usual.” Torveld says it like it’s funny, like it’s a joke.

“Yes, your grace.”

“No one can come in either, not Princess Verenia, not my men, not my brother himself. Only you and Arethas,” Erasmus remembers what he told Kallias yesterday, he’s a devil, truly. “I’d rather keep that one out too, he likes pretty things too much, but alas.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“I mean it, my friend. Not a single person, I’ll keep a guard out in the hall, they’ll help you keep anyone out.”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Alright, I’m putting my trust in you.” Torveld’s tone is light, but they all know how much he means it. He puts his hand in Kallias’ shoulder and Kallias nods, jaw locked. “Keep him safe, out of trouble.”

“Of course, your grace.”

Erasmus keeps crying, no one tries to comfort him. When he gets bored of that, he goes to stand beside his husband, takes one of his hands in both of his, decides to beg some more.

“Dearest, please.”

“Oh, my sweet boy, you know I can’t.”

“Please, I’ll never ask anything of you again, please.” That makes Torveld glance at him, mull it over, Erasmus fears that he’ll indulge him, he didn’t think it’d work.

“No, Erasmus. I am sorry, but no.”

Erasmus walks back to the couch, shuts his mouth, he took it too far. By mid-morning, his husband’s trunks are packed, his men drag them out of the room.

He’s denied of waving his husband goodbye in the courtyard too. Torveld holds him against his chest by the entrance, shushes him, runs his hands up and down his back. When it’s time to break apart, he grabs Erasmus by the chin, a bad omen.

“Be good, Erasmus.”

“Yes, dearest. Travel safe, please.”

“I will.”

And Torveld walks out of the room, Arethas trailing behind him. Erasmus can see the guard his husband talked about posted in the hallway. When the doors are shut and they cannot hear footsteps anymore, Kallias starts laughing, clutching his belly.

“Oh, gods.”

“Your husband is the most foolish man I’ve ever met, Erasmus.”

“Give us some credit.”

“No, I mean it. This is unbelievable, truly, it must be a joke.”

“I know, right? I’ve been trapped in here all this time and this is what he does.”

“Unbelievable, I’m telling you.”

“How long will he be away for? He didn’t tell me.”

“A fortnight. You aren’t supposed to know.”

“To keep me on my toes.”

“Yes.”

They spend the entire day together, unbothered by Arethas. Kallias tells him he paid a boy in the stables to dangle a carrot on his face, he also slips the guard one of Erasmus’ brooches, a gold one with blood red rubies, Kallias says the man is a friend of a friend, but that they should still play it safe.

Lambourgos naps on Kallias’ chest when they lay together on the rug, under the sun. Erasmus threads his fingers through Kallias’ hair, enraptured with its’ shine, he can wear it loose again, at least until Torveld comes back. Kallias falls asleep like that, Erasmus dozes off too.

When he wakes up, the moon is out and Kallias is staring down at him, he’s sitting on the blue chaise. Erasmus thinks he looks gorgeous under the moonlight, he smiles at him, rubs sleep from his eyes.

“Erasmus.”

“Hello.”

“I need to ask you something.” His tone sobers Erasmus, Kallias has a small frown on his brow, his eyes are slightly watery.

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to kill your husband?”

“ _Kallias_.” Erasmus gasps out, he sits up quickly, scrambles as far away from Kallias as he can, he can feel tears bubble up in his throat already.

“Erasmus, do you need me to kill your husband?”

“No. No, Kallias. Why would you ask that?”

“He’ll be on the road, it’s our best chance, we can hire someone.”

“No.” Erasmus feels betrayed, angry, his hands are shaking. He can’t believe Kallias would even suggest that wretched idea. He walks over to Kallias, kneels between his legs and looks up at him, his handsome face has never been this sad. “No, Kallias.”

“Please, Erasmus, it would free us both. It would free _you_.”

“No.” They stare at each other, everything hanging between them. Erasmus thinks of how they ended up like this, in this mess. They should’ve stayed together in Ios, maybe they would have survived, lived, married. They could have died too, peacefully, in each other’s arms.

“I won’t ask again, then.” And Kallias leans down to kiss him, hungrily, not sweetly like he usually does. Erasmus knows that Kallias had been waiting for this, for them to be alone together. He has too, he has wanted this for years, since they were boys.

He stands up, dragging Kallias with him. Erasmus wraps his hands around Kallias’ waist, feels the tips of his hair tickle his skin. Kallias presses their cheeks together, long eyelashes fluttering and they stay like that for a moment, breathing each other in.

But Erasmus is a man starved, his lips find Kallias’ again, he still kisses how they were taught to, in the slave gardens. Kallias backs them up, towards the bed and Erasmus falls on his back, stretches against the sheets and looks up, at his Kallias. His blue eyes are half-lidded, dark, his pretty lips shiny. Erasmus feels desire pool at his belly.

Kallias climbs over him, straddling his lap, forcing his tongue in Erasmus’ mouth. Erasmus whines, high and breathy when Kallias pulls away to undress him, he has a smirk on his face, a funny one.

“What?”

“I’m not sure of how to unwrap patran robes in this _setting_.” It’s ridiculous, it pulls a laugh out of Erasmus.

“I’ll teach you, then.” He sits up and touches the high neck of Kallias’ robes, caresses the skin hidden under the fabric, his collarbones, his shoulders. Erasmus gathers the dalmatica with his hands, pulls the draping silks away from his body, takes off his tunic too. Kallias copies every one of his movements, his eyes never leaving Erasmus’, their gazes are locked when he grinds down, rubs their hardness together.

Erasmus means it when he says that he has never craved anything more, he wants Kallias to devour him whole, to cut a hole into Kallias’ chest, where his heart would be, and stay there for the rest of his life. He wants, no, he needs this, needs to hear Kallias’ moans and groans, needs to taste every inch of his skin, so he does. He kisses Kallias’ long neck, under his sharp jaw, his delicate collarbones, his chest, wraps his lips around a dark nipple and Kallias cries out, falls against the mattress.

His black hair is fanned out under him and he wraps his arms around Erasmus’ neck, threads his thin fingers in his golden curls. And then Kallias spreads his legs open. _Oh_. He doesn’t notice Erasmus’ hesitation, he rises his hips to rub them together again, bites at Erasmus’ throat. Erasmus brushes his hands down Kallias’ torso, grazes the dark hair between Kallias’ legs and wraps his hand around his cock, making him moan, low and deep. It’s the loveliest sound Erasmus has ever heard; it makes him remember what Kallias wants.

“Kallias.”

“Yes, yes.”

“ _Kallias_.” It’s no use, Kallias is bucking up against his fist. Kallias takes his head between his hands and kisses him again, distracting Erasmus, he pants against Kallias’ mouth, he cannot look away from him. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, his eyebrows pulled together and his eyes are closed, Erasmus wants him to open them, he moves his hand faster, presses his thumb to the wet slit.

“Wait, Erasmus.” Kallias’ voice is rough; his back is arched, Erasmus knows, just by the look in his face, that whatever he’s about to say will ruin him. “I want to come with you inside me, wait.”

“Oh, I’ve never-.” He cuts himself off, when he realizes he wants that too. His First Night was taken away from him, and he had given Torveld every night after, but he wants to give this to Kallias, something out of his free will, untainted by the slave gardens and by his husband, with no trace in his past. He doesn’t know why Kallias is asking this of him, they were both made for princes, he must know that this wasn’t part of his training. But he wants this, Erasmus is hungry for it.

“Oh. If you don’t want to I can-.” Kallias’ gaze is adoring, the softest it’s ever been.

“No, I want to, it’s just-.”

“Yes, I understand.” Erasmus giggles, disentangling them a little to reach for the oil his husband keeps inside of a chest by their bed. The vial is full; they haven’t made use of it in a while. Kallias tries to take it from his hands.

“If you want to I can.-.”

“No, I mean, if you don’t want me to-.” It’s so awkward, Kallias starts laughing, eyes twinkling.

“Do it, then.” Kallias guides Erasmus’ hand downwards, behind his balls, over his hole. Erasmus knows this part, he oils his fingers, thrusts one in as slowly and gently as he can. Kallias sighs out. Erasmus tries not to think too much about what he’s doing, or he’ll lose courage, he focuses on keeping his touches kind as he adds another finger, scissors them, searches for Kallias’ sweet spot. He knows he’s found it when Kallias bites down where Erasmus’ shoulder meets his neck, shivers all over, grasps at the top of Erasmus’ arms.

“Another, ‘Rasmus, another.” Erasmus does as he’s told. Thrusts his fingers in and out as Kallias grinds down, tries to take them deeper, then he sees him try to pull himself together. “That’s enough, come on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Erasmus.” Kallias reaches for the vial too, oils Erasmus cock’ himself. “There’s no need to worry, I bet you’re a natural.”

Erasmus lines himself, breathes out once, twice. He braces himself and looks at Kallias, drinks the sight of his mussed hair, his slim waist, his pretty thighs. He can’t help but let out a whimper when he enters him, he’s tight, and warm, and he has never felt anything like this, not really, it doesn’t compare. Kallias presses their foreheads together and they breathe one another, Erasmus forces himself to keep his hips still.

“Kallias, Kallias, please.” He’s not sure what he’s begging for.

“ _Erasmus_.” It’s like his name is the only word Kallias’ knows, he moans it over and over, they don’t look away from each other’s eyes as Erasmus drives into him. They come like that, Erasmus’ hands burrowed in Kallias’ dark hair, Kallias under him, scratching down Erasmus’ back, with their gazes locked, together, as one, as they were always meant to. Erasmus knows Kallias has ruined him, for Torveld and for anyone else, Erasmus feels like he was born just for this moment, for being with Kallias and Kallias was born for him too, two halves of the same person.

\---

\+ DE PLATA

 _Cuando yo_ / _Cuando yo me, me muera_ / _Te pi'o un encargo_ / _Que con tus trenzas_ / _Que trenzas de tu pelo negro_ / _Me amarres mis manos_

Erasmus wakes up with hair in his mouth, spluttering. Kallias, behind him, holds him tighter and makes a sleepy sound. They are pressed impossibly together, chest to back, thigh to thigh, calf to calf. Erasmus turns his head to look at Kallias, he wonders how he didn’t suffocate in his sleep. All of Kallias’ hair covers his entire head, wraps around his face, like black dye has been dumped on him.

“I hate you.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.” Kallias untangles them, sits up, inky bird’s nest sticking out in every direction. Erasmus reaches to touch it, his hand gets caught in a knot. “You grew your hair out.”

“It makes me look older, mature.” It makes Erasmus laugh, it’s a weird motive.

“It doesn’t.”

“It _does_ , shut up.”

“I like it, it suits you.”

“Oh, I know you do. You’ve got a weird thing going on with it.” Kallias’ eyes are full of mischief, he’s letting his hair hang above Erasmus’ face, like a frizzy curtain.

“I do _not_.”

“You do, little pervert.”

“Shut up, it’s pretty, that’s all.” They both laugh. Erasmus takes Kallias’ hands in his, kisses each one of his knuckles. He had a nightmare, last night. “Do you think he would kill me, if he found out?”

“I would not let him, it wouldn’t happen, not in a million years.” Kallias’ voice is fierce, his brow is furrowed, Erasmus thinks he looks like a young god.

“If he does, bury your hair with me, burn it on my pyre.” It’s too early for Erasmus to dwell on how that sounds.

“I won’t let him, Erasmus, I won’t.”

“Then you get to keep your pretty locks.” Erasmus tries to keep his tone light, like he’s telling a joke.

“I _will_ keep them, pervert. That’s the most bizarre thing anyone has ever told me and _I_ was a pleasure slave, Erasmus.” He’s laughing and trying to push away from Erasmus, roughhousing and rolling around in the sheets, it’s a cloudy morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the lights / Comes out an angel that fell / He has a mark on his soul / But she did not see it
> 
> Say my name / When no one's around you / […] / May the things / May the things you say to me / […] / Not get out of this door // And tie me with your hair / To the corner of your bed / That even if the hair breaks / I will pretend that I'm tied
> 
> When I / When I, I die / I ask of you / That with your braids / Your black haired braids / You tie my hands
> 
> Yes, I've cockblocked y'all with very emotional and very unrealistic sex. Also, let! Erasmus! top!  
> Also, not pictured: Kallias' I Need A Hero montage when he was working at the palace in Ios and heard that a prince of Patras was marrying an Akielon slave that was sent to Vere. He totally busted Callinia.


	5. NANA / MALDICIÓN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conception / Sanity.

_Nadie a ti te ha conta’o_ / _Que ningún sueño_ / _Sabe de horas o tiempos_ / _Ni tiene dueño_

Life, alone with Kallias, is bliss. Erasmus is the happiest he’s ever been. He didn’t get a honeymoon with Torveld, they married and stayed in Bazal, but he’s sure this is what a honeymoon is like. It’s full of lazy afternoons under the sun, of quiet mornings and of passionate nights.

They are still extremely careful. Kallias has set a cot in Torveld’s study and has told Arethas that one of them should stay overnight, that Erasmus could climb down a window or slit his wrists and no one would know a thing until morning, that they should do it on shifts, switching nights. Arethas told him that he’s being paranoid, that he wouldn’t spend nights away from his rooms for any reason, that it’s not like they’re looking after the crown jewels, that Erasmus won’t escape, that if Kallias wants to play guard dog so badly, then he should do it on his own. Stupid man, Arethas is. Kallias musses the sheets every morning, so they look slept in when Arethas comes to work on Torveld’s books.

Arethas comes in a few hours each day for that purpose, usually before lunch. He sits at Torveld’s desk and has Kallias report to him Erasmus’ moods, which he writes down and sends to Torveld with a messenger, each day. He must feel king of the castle. Stupid man, so clueless that he’s being played.

They slip a pair of earrings to the guard outside too, they are sure he cannot hear anything from the other side of the heavy doors, but Kallias insists and he makes the guard believe that he’s stealing from Erasmus, that he’s letting him in on his secrets, that’ll make him loyal, Kallias says.

The rest of their hours are spent with one another. They teach Lambourgos how to roll and finally tame the songbird, Erasmus plays his kithara and sings for Kallias. They braid each other’s hair, they put on paints like they are slaves once again, Kallias tries on every one of Erasmus’ robes, Erasmus dresses him with all of the jewelry he owns, all at the same time, it makes Kallias look like the average room in Arles. Erasmus breaks an ornate plate by accident, Kallias takes Erasmus’ gold sword down from its’ stand and they cannot put it back up, they spend an entire afternoon trying. Next morning, Kallias tells Arethas that Erasmus was angry the day before, that he threw one of his fits again. He didn’t, he had been crying from laughter at Kallias’ struggle.

“Don’t you just stand there, Erasmus.”, “Stop laughing, ‘Rasmus, why doesn’t it stay in place?”

It’s bliss, until Kallias decides it’s not, disrupts their happiness with his never-ending questions.

“Why did you marry him?”

“Kallias.”

“I’m just curious.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“How?” Erasmus can feel a head ache coming, he wishes they could just ignore it, keep pretending until Torveld comes back and they’re distracted once again.

“I loved him and he loved me, simple as that.”

“Yes, but why?”

“You know why.”

“I mean, why didn’t you…” Kallias has that thoughtful look on his face, Erasmus knows that he’s about so say something silly, or at least funny to Erasmus, which is usually something Kallias insists it’s serious. “ _entertain_ other _prospects_?” He was right. Erasmus throws his head back in laughter.

“Prospects?”

“Oh, don’t make fun of me. You could’ve a merchant husband, or a pretty lady-wife, or you could’ve stayed unmarried, gone back to Akielos.” That’s what this talk is about, then. Kallias wants to know why Erasmus didn’t search for him, find him, like Kallias did.

“I could not. I had no other prospects, I was a pleasure slave in a foreign court, with no friends and no familiarity.” He can tell that Kallias wants to interrupt him, contradict him. Erasmus doesn’t let him, he doesn’t know how Kallias can be so blind, sometimes. “I had to stay here, Torveld was all I had, what was I supposed to do, Kallias? While you were being fed olives by a prince’s hand, I was getting raped in Vere. While you were enjoying your freedom in Ios, surrounded by kings, I was here, friendless. While you were out there, in the kitchens and the halls, making friends and gossiping, I was locked up in these rooms.

And I know what you’re thinking. I couldn’t have married anyone else, I only had eyes for Torveld. I loved him and I love him still, I think I always will.”

“I understand, Erasmus.” He doesn’t, Erasmus thinks that nobody in their five kingdoms does. No matter how much Kallias loves Erasmus, he could leave, he could get away from the mess Erasmus has made. He can climb onto a horse this very afternoon and leave Erasmus behind, him and Torveld. Erasmus cannot do that, he’ll rot in these rooms, die in here, ‘til death do them part.

“I’m sorry, Kallias.” For chaining them together, for not being able of giving him what he wants. Kallias lies his head in Erasmus’ lap, he trails his fingers over his sharp cheekbones, traces his straight nose.

That night, they fall asleep holding hands, foreheads pressed together. They have scant days left together and they spend the next morning in bed, with Lambourgos napping under the bedcovers. It doesn’t occur to Erasmus until then that he might’ve desecrated his marriage bed. Kallias is running his fingers through Erasmus’ shoulders, it’s pleasant, it makes him want to dream for a few moments longer.

“What would we have done, if I stayed in Ios?”

“I would’ve married you.”

“What else?”

“We could have moved away from the capital, away to Isthima, to a province.”

“I would’ve liked to be a merchant.”

“A merchant?”

“Yes.”

“I think I’d like to learn a trade.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t care, a carpenter, a sculptor. Anything would do.”

“I think a small house would be better, a big one would look too much like the gardens.”

“Maybe.” Kallias smiles at him, his blue eyes are sad.

\---

 _He deja'o un reguero_ / _De sangre por el suelo_ / _He deja'o un reguero_ / _Que me lleva al primer día_ / _Que te dije que te quiero_ / _Pa' saber lo que decía_ // _Ay, el querer_ / _Que en un momento quisiera_ / _Estar loca y no querer_ / _Porque el querer causa pena_ / _Pena que no tiene fin_

It ends on a clear night, with a full and shining moon watching over them. Watching over them like Torveld does.

They spent the day cleaning the room. Kallias had gotten word from Arethas that Torveld had set off from Dabanas that morning and that he would arrive to Bazal in three days. They wanted to make sure to not leave anything incriminating laying around, like one of Kallias’ leather ties, so they started cleaning early. They would leave the bedchamber for tomorrow, change the sheets and covers, Erasmus would spend the night before Torveld’s arrival alone, for good measure.

Kallias had fallen asleep first, intertwined with Erasmus. They had made love that evening, softly, so Kallias wouldn’t mark Erasmus, leave any bruise or scratch. They are woken by Torveld’s grunt of effort when he pulls Kallias away from bed.

Erasmus is sure he’s trapped inside a nightmare. Torveld’s face is red with fury, a vein popped on his temple, his eyes are crazed. He and Kallias were right, Torveld wouldn’t kill Erasmus, at least not first.

Torveld has Kallias by his throat, choking him, with Kallias trying to scratch Torveld’s arm. He frees himself by kicking Torveld on the stomach, although not for long, Torveld wraps a hand around his hair, gets a better grip and smashes Kallias’ head against the ornate mirror, cracking it in pieces. Kallias reaches for Erasmus’ vanity, grabs one of the heavy silver plates Erasmus keeps his rings in and tries to hit Torveld with it.

He succeeds, forcing Torveld to take a step back, it’s not a win. Erasmus can see that one half of Kallias’ face is bloodied; it matches the splatter on the mirror.

His husband charges at Kallias again, they move away from that corner of the room, towards the bed, where Erasmus is. Erasmus panics. It’s something out of his worst dreams, he knows Torveld will kill Kallias, with his bare hands, he won’t need a sword or a dagger. Kallias, no matter the years that have passed between them, is still lean, with a pleasure slave’s physique, his body won’t put up a fight against Torveld’s brute force.

Erasmus gets away from the bed, sobbing, when Torveld rattles Kallias against one of the bedposts. He can’t breathe, can’t focus, can’t think. Kallias’ eyes are wide with fear and Erasmus remembers what he’s fantasized about. Dying with Kallias. He walks over to them, tries to push Torveld off, he gets thrown across the room as a reward. His body knocks over the songbird’s cage.

It has made Torveld angrier, as if that were possible, but it too has given Kallias a moment to recover, to square up. Kallias goes for his husband’s eyes and Torveld screams in pain, grabs Kallias by the waist and throws him across the room, like he did with Erasmus. He can see Kallias gasping, he’s hit his stomach with a chest, the air knocked out of him.

He sees Torveld right himself too, he stares at his husband’s back, he looks like a predator, like one of his hounds. Erasmus scrambles back when he realizes he’s prey too, cuts his hand with the golden sword Kallias knocked down.

“You bastard.” His husband snarls, and Erasmus knows he’ll actually murder Kallias, it feels real now. Torveld will kill Kallias and Erasmus will be alone in the world, but most importantly, he’d have failed him. This was supposed to be the way to keep Kallias alive, with him, Erasmus doesn’t care for having to rot in his pretty cells, but he has trapped Kallias inside of them too, and now he’ll get him killed too, his Kallias.

Another moment of clarity, not madness, and Erasmus takes the sword in his hands. It’s too heavy for him and the weight makes his hand burn. He walks over to where Torveld is standing over Kallias and stabs him in the back, takes the blade out and thrusts it back in. Torveld, falls down, kneels and Erasmus takes him in his arms.

“Torveld, oh, Torveld.” He kisses his husband’s face. He can’t believe he’s done this, soiled them like this, he wants to take it back, wants to climb into Torveld’s lap, wants Torveld to kill him instead.

His husband stares at him, with his round brown eyes, and Erasmus sobs. He thinks of Torveld in Vere, when he saved Erasmus from the fire, of him on the road to Patras, of him when he showed Erasmus Bazal, of when he introduced him at court, of when he asked Erasmus to marry him.

He had looked so happy, the happiest. Erasmus wishes he had never done it, that he had spared them both of this fate, he wishes he were still a slave, Torveld’s slave, this would’ve never happened, that way. He thinks of Callinias’ words on his wedding day ‘we dreaded this happening to you, Erasmus’, ‘be brave, Erasmus.’ He has never been brave, not a single day in his life.

He thinks of Torveld in the mornings, of him in the baths, of him at dinner. He thinks of him astride on a horse, of him on the day of the hunt, of him backhanding Erasmus. His husband’s eyes have not dimmed, he stares at Erasmus and opens his mouth.

“Wicked boy--.” He chokes on his own blood, and Erasmus wipes it away desperately, he starts kissing his face again, rubs his cheek against his beard.

“I am sorry, dearest, please, I am sorry.” Torveld looks frightened now, he presses his hands to his stomach, to his wound, and they come back bloodied. He reaches out for Erasmus then, touches his jaw, his chin, bad omen.

Erasmus looks down, away from him and sees a puddle of blood, it keeps expanding, more and more. Erasmus thinks of his wedding robes, a pool of crimson at his feet. He thinks of that day again, of Torveld’s wide grin and the tapestry his niece wove for them, he thinks of his wedding rings and of his wedding night. He has killed him with his wedding gift. It all goes back to that day and the word repeats itself like a mantra in Erasmus’ brain, ‘wedding’.

When he looks back at his husband’s face, his eyes are still, dry. There’s even more red on his mouth, on his chin, and it is red Erasmus sees when he turns to Kallias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one has told you / That no dream / Knows hours or times / Or has an owner
> 
> I’ve left a trail / Of blood on the floor / I’ve left a trail / That leads me to the first day / That I told you that I loved you / To know what you would say // Ay, loving / In a moment I would want / To be insane and not love / Because loving causes sorrow / Sorrow that has no end


	6. A NINGÚN HOMBRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Power

_A ningún hombre consiento_ / _Que dicte mi sentencia_ / _Solo Dios puede juzgarme_ / _Solo a Él debo obediencia_ // _Hasta que fuiste carcelero_ / _Yo era tuya, compañero_ / _Hasta que fuiste carcelero_

“You, wretch of a man.” Erasmus growls, he dries his tears and wipes away the blood Torveld left on his face. “How dare _you_ make me do this?” He’s so angry, furious. He can’t believe what he’s done, the guilt eats away at him, it’s the heaviest burden, and his hand has been forced. “I should kill you too, for making me do it.”

“ _Erasmus_.” Kallias tries to reach for him, comfort him. Erasmus pushes him away, he bends over Torveld’s body and sobs once again, presses himself close, stains his entire body with blood. “Shit, the guard.” Erasmus doesn’t look at Kallias, doesn’t see him walk out and find an empty hall. He keeps crying.

When he feels dry, with no more tears left, he stares down at his husband and breathes out. He realizes that he’s finally free for the first time in his life, he has freed himself. He remembers Torveld’s blows, his traps, his manipulation.

Erasmus had never done anything but try to make him happy, as happy as Torveld made him, and no amount of Erasmus’ efforts ever satisfied him. Despicable man.

He thinks of the _look_ , of how miserable he had been until Kallias had found him, of how miserable Torveld made him, made them both. They could’ve been blissfully content, at court or at Dabanas, if only Torveld had stopped himself. He thinks of all the times he had forced himself to control his anger, and of all the times Torveld had not, of how he had caged Erasmus, coveted him entirely.

Erasmus stands up, stares down at Torveld and then glances at Kallias who’s returned to the bedchamber. His face has stopped bleeding; his eyes are still scared.

“I won’t be executed for this.”

“Of course not, ‘Rasmus, we’ll find a way--.”

“I will _not_.”

They cannot bathe, that would alert the servants. Erasmus has them scrub the blood off as well as they can with what they have in the washbasin, what they can’t, they cover with their robes. Kallias goes to search for the guard, to find out if Torveld had him leave when he got to the rooms or if the man left when he heard the struggle. It was the former, and Erasmus thanks the gods and prays that Kallias’ questions were unsuspicious enough.

Kallias also has them shave their heads with one of his husband’s razors.

“There’s a Vaskian man in the kitchens, he owes me.” Erasmus doesn’t ask him why.

“They’ll find us in Vask, it’s the first place where they’ll search for us.”

“No, they’ll try Akielos first.”

“Still.”

Erasmus puts their hair in separate kerchiefs, it’d be good to sell it. He wishes he could keep Kallias’ inky locks, though, preferably on Kallias’ head too. He knows Kallias did it so it’s harder for them to be recognized, but Erasmus feels like it’s fitting for him, like he’s cutting it in grief.

“Then we’ll go somewhere else, Kempt or Vere, we could cross the sea.”

“Not Vere.”

“Kempt, then.”

Erasmus takes all of his jewelry, and Torveld’s too. They won’t be able to trade or sell the pieces while they were still in Patras, the palace will notice it’s missing, it’ll be traced back to them. But it will probably come in handy later, when they’re in Vask or any other place far away from here. He also takes Lambourgos, wraps him in wool so he won’t jump away from his arms. He leaves the bird for Verenia.

“He probably lied to Arethas, to keep you in the dark.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Kallias.”

“I guess. So, listen to me, Erasmus.” Kallias tells him that he knows of two different safe exits from the palace grounds, that they’ll probably will be able to leave unbothered, a guard or two will see them but allow them to pass. They agree to get out separately, so they won’t search for the two of them together, to make them believe that they went their own ways. It takes a while for them to find a landmark that they both recognize, where they’ll reunite. Kallias says that he’ll find them a horse, they’ll have to switch them as many times as they can, so the palace will not know in what kind of mount they’re traveling on.

Erasmus cleans the mirror too, wipes every shard of glass free of blood, and smashes it again. He asks Kallias to help him rest it on the floor, as if it were knocked over, so they won’t search for a man with a scar.

Before they leave the rooms, Erasmus closes Torveld’s eyelids with his fingertips, kisses the furrow between his brows one last time. Makes peace with what he’s done.

He feels regret first, like he had done the first moment he realized what had happened, when he felt the sword break skin, and go through his husband’s flesh. He wishes he were trapped in a nightmare, that Kallias was just another one of his daydreams as a prisoner, that in a moment he’ll wake up and Torveld will console him, take him in his arms. He thinks that’s probably what is going on, he’s just dreaming, asleep. But the hotness of tears rolling down his cheeks make him discard the idea.

Then, Erasmus feels powerful, proud of himself. He’s reminded of what has been done to him. He is sure that Torveld did not marry him for love, but as a way to enslave him. And enslaved he was, even before his husband had locked him in these rooms. He has taken Sidonia, Callinia, Verenia and Samir away from him, as if his happiness, his calm, his sweetness had not been enough. He will never see them again.

He’s glad that that man, Bardas, got out safe. Torveld must’ve tainted him too. He thinks of King Laurent as well, how uncomfortable he had seemed around his husband, this beast of a man. Even animals had been kinder to Erasmus than him.

He has loved him, against all reason, he has and he does, he will. He closes his fists, the palm of his hand stings. It was a deep cut, it’ll scar. Erasmus will bear the mark of his husband’s cruelty, like Veretian fire mars his thighs. A reminder of what they’ve done to each other, to keep with him ‘til death do them part, when his flesh rots away.

Erasmus stands up, walks away from their rooms, from Bazal and from Patras, without looking back.

\---

It takes them six months to get to Kempt.

They buy a small house, more of a cottage, by the seaside. It’s on the edge of a fishing village, an unimportant one. It’s made of stone and their bedroom’s window looks into the ocean, the kitchen is dark and damp, it has one sitting room and one small dining room. They pay for it with Erasmus’ wedding rings and a ruby earring. Kallias tells him that it was worth one ring, at most. The other earring is spent in a small herd of goats and an apprenticeship for Kallias, in carpentry, like he wanted to. They hide the rest of the jewelry inside the bricks of the house.

Lambourgos dislikes the cold from this far up north, spends his days glued to the hearth. Kallias convinces Erasmus to get a dog, so it’ll guard the goats from the wolves that roam the Northern Forests. He’s reluctant, goats are mean animals and they’ve already given Erasmus a good scare or two, he doesn’t think his poor heart can take a big dog barking around their grounds. Kallias, of course, brings home not one, but two puppies from the village. They’re sisters, a pale cream color with fluffy, curly tails. He lets Kallias name them.

A widow, mother to one of the men Kallias works with, teaches Erasmus how to turn the milk from the goats into goat cheese, how to grow herbs, and he sells them in the village’s market. When he’s saved up and feels brave enough to deal with it, he buys a cow. She’s gentle, with a pretty rust coat, he names her Kymaitha.

The village people are kind to them, Kallias is charming enough to stop them from asking too many questions, they tell them half-truths, that they are the freed slaves of an Akielon kyros, that they lived in Vask before moving here.

After two years, when Erasmus feels he’s grieved enough, they marry. They wear matching gold rings, made with the melted gold of one of Erasmus’ necklaces, with small gemstones set into them, they don’t feel like being ostentatious, not here, not in this peaceful, coastal life. Kallias’ is a pale yellow fire opal, Erasmus’ a bright lapis lazuli, the color of each other’s eyes. Erasmus thought it was incredibly cheesy, but fitting enough.

Their wedding ceremony is even smaller than Erasmus’ first, it’s a small town. Erasmus thinks he has never seen a prettier sight than Kallias in his Kemptian wedding doublet, his dark hair reaches his shoulder blades now and it’s silky smooth in Erasmus’ fingers when they seal their union with a kiss. The daughter of one of their friends, little Hilde, insists they wear matching flower crowns for their walk out of the temple, hand in hand.

That night, Erasmus presses their cheeks together for a long moment and then stares into Kallias’ eyes, blue like the sea that howls outside their tiny cottage, like the silk ribbon that’s tied around Lambourgos’ neck, like the woolen rug that keeps their feet warm in the sitting room, like the velvet chaise in his bedchamber in Patras.

“I’m glad, that you did not let me stay in Ios.” He’s glad he’s not dead, that he’s lived long enough to have this.

“Me too, the weather is better up here, I disliked the heat.” Kallias smiles at him, tenderly. He knows what Erasmus means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't consent to any man / That he may dictate my sentence / Only God can judge me / Only to Him I owe obedience // Until you became my jailer / I was yours, companion / Until you became my jailer
> 
> Oh, I know you've noticed the plot holes. I did too and I was gonna rewrite parts of this chapter to fill them in until I realized that a) Torveld had been killed in the bedchamber, far away from any common halls and hallways and b) Patras is a very peaceful kingdom. Though I imagine that Torveld has a guard or two with him at court or functions, I doubt he keeps them as nearby as Laurent did in the first book.  
> Also, I want to thank the hannibal fandom for being freaks and teaching me that you gotta focus on the details when cleaning up a murder.  
> Erasmus’ sheepdogs are Norwegian Buhunds.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as @arsaces-undone (or @rmayuscula)  
> Thank you for reading :).


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